


You look (But You Don’t See)

by Dammit_Jim



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Cannibalism, Dubious Consent, Fantasy, Gore, Hannibal's spirit is a stag, M/M, Manipulation, OC Murderer, Spirit Animal, Will's spirit is a wolf, dark themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dammit_Jim/pseuds/Dammit_Jim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone’s spirit walks beside them in the form of an animal. However, while others have learnt to utilise their skills, not everyone can see them.</p><p>Will’s mental state declines rapidly as he struggles to find the connections between several kidnappings. When the kidnappings become murder cases and Will still can’t empathise with the killer he goes to Hannibal for guidance. Hannibal may be Will’s only hope for illumination. But Hannibal is only interested in one thing, Will’s eventual damnation.<br/> </p><div class="center">
  <p>    <i>“If only Will could see what he truly was…a wolf among dogs.”</i><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do you See?

**Author's Note:**

> I do not wish to insult anyone's religious (or spiritual) beliefs so if I get something wrong PLEASE do tell me.
> 
> In this story I may reference different religious beliefs concerning animism and spiritism, while I've tried to stay true to those beliefs I have purposefully combined many different aspects to create a different idea, basically implying that everyone was a little bit right.
> 
> This is fictional, and is in no way meant to be insulting. I am an atheist but I believe everyone has a right to their own beliefs. I find many of them fascinating and very beautiful.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal wonders if Will can see it.
> 
> And Jack of course interrupts with a case.

  
_“A spirit is not an abstract, undefined being, only to be conceived of by our thought;  
it is a real, circumscribed being, which, in certain cases,  
is appreciable by the senses of sight, hearing, and touch.” _

\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

Hannibal watched Will curiously. The man had begun day dreaming several times in the last hour, his head nodding or his eyes glazing over with some distant thought. Hannibal found it strangely endearing, though he should have possibly found it rude.

“Will?”

Will looked up, suddenly realising he had faded, “Sorry?” he asked.

The smile was lost on Will, who blinked several times as if to waken himself, and sat straighter in his chair. He did not meet Hannibal’s eyes. This inability to meet eye-contact gave Hannibal the satisfying advantage of watching Will’s spirit as it shook its head in annoyance at having been woken. Its dark eyes watched Hannibal, and it tilted its head in, what could only be called, apology. Hannibal thought the creature beautiful, especially as it struggled with its complex mental state. While Hannibal had learnt to control his emotions, and even how his stag portrayed them, Will’s wolf was purely driven by emotion, and it made dear Will so very easy to read.

“I asked how you were sleeping,” Hannibal repeated, turning his gaze to fall on Will.

“Not very well,” Will admitted.

“Do you still dream of Garett Jacob Hobbs, Will?”

Will sighed, and Hannibal could see his spirit shake nervously. After a moment Will stood, wringing his hands, and his wolf followed, “I do dream about him,” he said, waving it off as if it meant nothing to him, “But not as often as before.”

“These new dreams, then,” Hannibal began carefully, following Will’s movement with his eyes, “Are they nightmares, also?”

Will did not respond. He stood at Hannibal’s desk, trailing a hand along the smooth wood as he looked at the drawings which lay there. Hannibal again knew he should be insulted by this response, but yet again he felt nothing beyond his usual interest in Will Graham. Hannibal could see that he was carefully concealing something.

He decided to try a different tactic. He stood and walked over to stand beside Will, “What did you dream of last night?”

Will blanched and visibly swallowed. He hadn’t expected such a direct question from the Doctor. He had dreamt of the stag. Though he always woke feeling anxious and afraid, the stag-dreams were never horrific. There was nothing particularly interesting about the dreams. He didn’t understand exactly why he didn’t want to tell Hannibal. The stag seemed like some kind of guardian. It was beautiful, and dangerous, and yet…pure. It was important to him. He seldom dreamt of anything but blood and pain and this was his only relief. He didn’t want to scare that tiny peaceful part of him away. Not that Hannibal would scare a fly.

So instead, Will deflected, gesturing to Hannibal’s most recent drawing, which depicted a dog not unlike one of his own back home, “He looks sad.”

“A dog is a domesticated beast,” Hannibal said, allowing to sate Will’s curiosity, and give in to his obvious diversion, “It is forced to hide it’s nature, to adapt.” 

Will’s wolf bristled at the statement.

“No one took a moment to ask him what he wanted,” Hannibal continued, “Instead he was stripped of his environment, his food source and expected to follow human rules.”

Will’s brow furrowed as he viewed the work. Hannibal wondered if Will understood. But Will did not recognise himself in the drawing. Instead he seemed confused. This had not been the reaction Hannibal had desired.

After a long pause Will turned to Hannibal, “What do you dream about, Dr Lecter?”

Hannibal turned, hiding a pleased smile. He had not expected such a question. He loved it when Will could surprise him. Despite this, however, Hannibal was well prepared for such an inquiry. But before he could answer with his carefully chosen words Will’s mobile rang.

Will looked nearly as displeased as Hannibal did at the interruption. He winced and took the phone out, looking at its screen.

“I’m sorry,” Will said, with sincerity, “It’s Jack.”

Hannibal nodded, “It’s fine.”

Will sighed and answered the phone, “Jack?”

“Will,” Jack said, and in the same breath added, “There’s been three kidnappings and we need your psych eval on the kidnapper.”

Jack’s booming voice traveled from Will’s phone across the room easily. Hannibal listened in interest, though he feigned polite indifference as he pretended to focus on organising his drawings into a neat pile.

“Okay,” Will responded, “I’m just in a meeting with-”

“With Dr Lecter?”

Hannibal looked up at the sound of his name and Will turned to him. 

“Yes?” he said into the phone.

“Bring him along,” Jack ordered before hanging up.

Will blinked and pocketed his mobile. He hated the way Jack talked to people. He felt like a child constantly penalised for doing something he hadn’t done. Jack was just trying to do his job, Will knew that. But he just wished he had more freedom…he wished…

Will sighed, “There’s been a few kidnappings,” he told Hannibal, unnecessarily, “Jack has _invited_ us to take a look.”

Hannibal noted the overstressed ‘invited’, and smirked, “I’m sure he said those exact words.”

Will gave a short laugh and Hannibal revelled in the sound.

The Doctor offered to drive Will to Quantico, Virginia, and Will accepted graciously. It gave Will the excuse to drive back to Maryland with Hannibal. Not that it would mean much; their drives were often spent in silence, and this one was no exception. Though, Will liked to think of it as a comfortable silence. 

When they arrived, Jack was quick to fill them in on the case.

“We didn’t think we’d have to call you in on this case,” Jack began, “But there’s been three kidnappings in the past week and we can’t see a connection.”

He pulled out three files and placed them on the desk in front of Will, who sat down to leaf through them. As he opened up the first document Jack spoke.

“The first is a Simon Walker. He’s twenty-seven, and studying medicine at University. He was last seen by his best friend, at 1pm last friday. But he did not finish uni until 3pm. His bike was found where he left it earlier that day.”

Jack began to pace as Will looked over the file. The boy looked young, care-free, and ordinary. He had dark-brown hair, and equally dark-brown eyes. He was fit, and his sun-kissed skin glowed in the artificial light of a photography studio. When Jack finished, Will moved on to the next document, and looked upon the photo of a woman with blond hair and eyes of a softer brown.

“Isabel Butler, she’s thirty-three, a writer. She was heard last from her husband on friday at 4pm when she pulled into a gas station four streets away from her house. The person working the till saw the woman go to the bathroom but never return.”

Will saw nothing remarkable in her serious-expression. Tiny creases, which framed her eyes, were the only flaw in her soft features. Though, without them an on-looker would be unable to tell she were happy. 

Jack stopped pacing to turn the page of the last folio and point at the photo sitting on top, “The last, Richard Cook, is forty-eight, and recently out of work. He was an accountant.”

Blue eyes sat in the face of a tired man. His dark brown hair was ill-kept and wind-swept. He had obviously been in a rush the day it was taken. Other than the appearance of his hair, Will saw nothing of consequence in this typical, middle class man.

Jack crossed his arms, “He was last seen wednesday at 10am, and though there was no sign of a struggle at his house we believe he may have been kidnapped from there the same day that the other two were kidnapped.”

Will leant back in his chair and looked over the photos as a collection.

“Isabel has a husband, Richard is a bachelor and Simon is the second son of a loving mother and father. None have violated any serious laws. All were healthy, though Simon had been in hospital recently for a broken arm,” Jack said, “Tell me what you think.”

“G-give me a moment,” Will said, raising a hand; He could feel a headache beginning in the centre of his forehead. 

Will stared at the photos. He tried to look passed the descriptions Jack had given him, to see what it was their kidnapper wanted from them.

“They’re obviously local,” Hannibal pointed out as Will thought.

“We thought so too,” Jack said.

Will tried to concentrate. There was nothing remarkable about any of the victims. He rubbed his forehead in frustration but the more he looked the worse his headache became.

Hannibal noticed Will’s discomfort, and stepped forward, “The places the people were taken from tell us that the kidnapper is careful. He or she knows their limitations.”

Jack frowned, “How so?” he asked.

“They were able to blend into Simon’s college, use the excuse of an empty bathroom to take Isabel, and hide from any on-lookers in the safety of Richard’s house,” Hannibal said.

“That doesn’t sound easy.”

That’s all Will heard before the room went silent, except for a buzzing in his ears. He felt light-headed. He tried desperately to concentrate on the documents in front of him but they continually blurred out of his focus. He urged himself to see what was missing but it didn’t help. He groaned as the headache worsened. He knew everyone was expecting an answer from him. He then noticed something in the corner of his eye, a figure which he couldn’t help but recognise even in its blurred form. It was Hobbs.

_‘You don’t see.’_

Will jumped; he had felt breath on his ear as if the speaker had been right behind him.

“I can’t see a connection,” he said, a little too forcefully, shaking his head as he turned to Jack.

Jack frowned, watching him carefully, “You’ve never had this problem before. Look again.”

Will sighed, “I’ve looked, Jack, I’ve looked and I’ve looked and there’s nothing here.”

“You’re meant to be the specialist!” Jack shouted, “Find _the_ connection.”

Will inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself, “You have an entire department, you don’t need to rely on me!”

Jack looked absolutely livid. 

Hannibal stepped in-between the two men, “Perhaps, I should take a look?” he asked.

Will rubbed at his forehead and thanked Hannibal under his breath. 

Hannibal picked the three folios up and leafed through them himself. He curiously studied the tilts of their mouths for contradiction, and their eyes for deception, but he saw nothing of interest. He flipped through the rest of the files, and concluded that the only connection, though a very very improbable one, was that the three plus their kidnapper would make the perfect family unit. The three victims had similar facial features. They could pass as a family, if one excused the age difference between Isabel and Richard.

Whether or not this was the correct hypothesis, though, Hannibal did not give Jack the satisfaction he desired. Especially after he had shouted at poor Will. Jack turned to Hannibal, with a look of hope.

“Will has a remarkable gift,” Hannibal said, “One which I unfortunately do not share. I’m afraid I will not be any more help than Will.”

Hannibal was careful to hide his pleasure at the sight of Jack’s anger, “I thought there were always connections,” he said, “Even subconscious ones.”

Hannibal nodded, “Often the case. However, there are exceptions to every rule.” Like Will was an exception to many of Hannibal’s.

Will was thankful for Hannibal’s response. He knew that the man was trying to protect him. He should walk away from this, leave Jack to his kidnapper, take an aspirin and sleep it off. But then again, there were lives at risk. 

He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself, thinking over the details in his head. He knew there was more in the photos than he could see; then, finally, some of it began to connect.

“The kidnapper’s young,” Will blurted.

Hannibal was unsurprised by Will’s revelation; it was inevitable that he would eventually attempt to mend the tension he believed himself to have caused. It was blindingly obvious to Hannibal that Will sought Jack’s approval, even if he found the man difficult to deal with.

“That’s their limitation?” Jack asked.

“Young, small, possibly female,” Will told him, “The way they’ve done this. It’s to do with physicality.”

“Anything else?”

“They’re also intelligent. They left no trace,” Will said, “And the victims, they’re not dead,” he paused, before adding, “Yet.”


	2. The Concept of Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal visits his psychiatrist, and Will dreams.

  
_"All spirits are destined to attain perfection  
by passing through the different degrees of the spirit-hierarchy.” _

\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

“You seem nervous, Hannibal,” Bedelia observed.

Her blond labrador watched him with the same uninterested, clinical expression that her human face portrayed. Hannibal studied her eyes for concern or curiosity and found only the tiniest spark of it in the brown eyes of her spirit. He was glad for her, that she could hide so much, so well, now. It was he who had taught her how.

“Agitated, perhaps,” Hannibal corrected.

Bedelia did not bother asking why he had lied to her. She knew his denial was false, or at least that he wished her to know it was false. Hannibal only allowed her to see what he wanted her to see. She knew that. Hannibal hid behind layer upon layer of lies.

Hannibal watched his psychiatrist as she attempted to analyse him. He wondered if she understood why he came to her. It was not for advice, per say, but rather a study program he had devised for himself. She was both his teacher and his guinea pig. He could study how she analysed him, and understand how he was meant to act, while also allowing her glimpses of his true self to see how much he could show before it was deemed inappropriate or unpalatable. 

He wondered if she could perceive even the slightest bit of what hid beneath the grace and tranquility of the stag. He had not always been a stag.

“What are you afraid of?” Bedelia asked him.

“I feel as if I am on the edge of a discovery,” Hannibal said, turning to look away as if the statement were difficult to say aloud.

“A self discovery?”

“An epiphany.”

“Epiphanies can often be a good thing, Hannibal,” she told him, “But sometimes they can reveal things we do not wish to face.”

He hid his smile, “I think this is one of the good kind,” he told her truthfully.

“And this epiphany,” Bedelia began, carefully, “Does it have anything to do with your relationship with Will Graham?”

He could see she was worried about this growing relationship. Her spirit watched Hannibal closely, her hackles rising.

“I believe so,” he told her, seasoning the statement with a hint of false uncertainty. 

“Will Graham is still your patient,” she told him, “I would not advise anything more than professional interest.”

Whether she had guessed about his plans for William or not, she was soon to find out.

Hannibal nodded, “He is not officially my patient.”

“You told me Will Graham understands you…”

Hannibal had to hold back the burning curiosity that sparked in him when Bedelia’s spirit stood and began to walk around, as if too anxious to sit still. He watched the attractive beast, and revelled in its sudden alarm. He knew Bedelia could see that her dog was giving her away but she continued anyway.

“When you said this,” she swallowed, “Did you mean he understood every part of you?”

Ah, Hannibal thought. This was not part of their carefully structured sessions; ones Bedelia had planned to please her client. She knew what to ask Hannibal, she knew what he wanted her to ask. But this was her own enquiry, and she did not know how Hannibal would react to it.

“He understands enough,” he told her truthfully; a reward for her inquisitive and dangerous question.

She nodded, and her spirit calmed, sitting down beside her. Hannibal pondered how easy it might be to set her dog on edge once more.

“I wonder sometimes…” he trailed off.

He almost laughed allowed when the labrador’s muscles tensed, “What is it that you wonder, Hannibal?”

“If only Will could see what he truly was…”

“And what is he?”

“A wolf among dogs.”

“You believe if he knew, it would strengthen him like it did me?” she asked, skeptically.

Knowing of spirits and of those who could see them had turned Bedelia’s world upside down. It had dethroned her from her perfectly comfortable position in psychiatry. When she begun to perceive the beasts her questions had prompted an unstable patient of hers to violently attack her. She was unable to act when a blond labrador appeared out of no where and sunk its teeth into the weasel her client had brought in with him. When she came to, she found her patient on the floor of her office, his neck shredded open.

Hannibal had of course carefully moulded the environment around her so as to allow such events to occur. In the end Bedelia had no one else to turn to when she found her mouth bloody and her perception of reality torn apart.

“You have not met _Will Graham_ ,” Hannibal pointed out.

Perhaps Will would have a similar reaction to Bedelia but he would come out of it all the stronger.

“No, I haven’t.” 

The blond labrador lay down, placing her head on her paws and watched Hannibal with a sad and tired gaze. Hannibal stared at her and tilted his head, as his stag watched Bedelia, and did the same.

—

He was running. The ground was spongey with damp autumn dew. It caved under his leaping bounds, under his powerful paws. Sometimes his fur snagged on branches, when the forest grew denser. Sometimes the wind clawed at his body. But he always broke free. There was something deeply satisfying about this game of catch-and-flee. 

He was in control for the first time in his life. He howled and his pack soon arrived. They wagged their tails when they met him. They were smaller. 

Winston stood at the front, a question in his eyes: _We run now?_

_Yes._

They ran, and his pack barked with joy. The moon lit their path, and shadowed the ground with their shapes. Will was faster than the rest, and he didn't want to slow down. Soon he was far ahead. A warning bark echoed from the distance. It was Winston. But Will kept on running.

The moon hid behind the clouds and the forest began to darken around him. He slowed to a walk. His pack had been left far far behind but he didn’t feel alone. There was something waiting for him in the darkness. He looked about the trees for the creature that watched him.

Some of the branches moved apart from the others, revealing themselves to be the antlers of a magnificent beast. It stepped towards him slowly and with an air of nobility. Will felt slightly afraid in its presence. 

The stag bowed its head slowly. Will copied the action. The stag huffed in amusement. They stood and stared at each other for some time. Will tried to distinguish the colour of the stag’s eyes. He believed they might be amber but in the dark they almost looked red.

Will felt content to stay there forever until he saw something in the corner of his eye. When he turned to look he met the dark eyes of another creature. This one made him uneasy. 

His hackles rose and he bared his teeth. _You’re not welcome_ , he snarled.

The hyena revealed its teeth and gave a dreadful laugh. _You don’t see._

—

Will woke and rolled over to sit at the edge of his bed. The blaring noise of his phone met his ears. He supposed it was what had woken him. He picked the device up, and for a second he found himself expecting it to be Hannibal but it was Jack’s name that blinked up at him.

That meant he had a case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'll update as soon as I can. Please leave a comment.


	3. To Attain Perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is called to a crime scene. Hallucinations ensue.

  
_”…the rapidity of our progress depends on the efforts we make  
to arrive at the perfection." _

\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

Will found himself in a school gymnasium on a sunday morning. He had a headache, and felt exhausted. But he was glad to have a distraction from his dream. It had unsettled him, despite the lack of gore.

The crime scene was particularly grotesque, and the stench of it burned his nose. The kidnapper had obviously decided that killing two of his prisoners was more desirable than keeping them alive. Richard and Isabel were little more than body parts now. The man and woman had been cut up into pieces, and sown, tied, wrapped up together in a clump. It was obvious to the naked eye that the kidnapper was skilled in medical knowledge, but not in textiles. 

Isabel had been propped up, one foot placed upon Richard's decapitated head. Her arms had been removed, tied together with the males arms and reattached to her shoulder-blades like wings. The males body had been bent over and attached at the neck to the woman's back, and the man's vertebrae had been attached to the small of his back. The killer had created a horrific beast out of the two victims.

Will removed his glasses, and closed his eyes. He imagined a pendulum swinging, helping him shed himself and take on the mind of the killer. When he opened his eyes again he was no longer William Graham.  
 _  
“Breaking into the gymnasium was easy.” He watched himself open the backdoor to the gym, and then begin walking back to the car, “I’d stolen the keys beforehand. I had this all planned.”_

_He opened the boot of the car and pulled out the limp bodies, “There would be no struggle.”_

_When he had them inside the gymnasium he went back to the car and returned with bags of tools. He set them down, “I know exactly where to start. I know exactly what it is I am trying to make.”_

_He took out a knife, and sliced into the female body. He removed the arms first, “I’m freeing you,” he said as he set them aside, “You’ll see. I’ll free you and you’ll free me.”_

_He then cut the lips from her face, and watched as the blood seeped into the cracks of her teeth. He grinned at the sight, “I’m showing the world. You can’t hide anymore.”_

_He moved onto the male. “This is the tricky bit,” he said, “You need a lot of work done to you.”_

_He took up a meat cleaver and swung once, slicing into the man’s neck. He swung again, and this time removed the head, hitting the floor of the gymnasium with a thunk. He then removed the man’s arms too, and picked up a scalpel and began to cut along the posterior ridge. He removed the vertebrae and replaced it with a metal rod. He removed the nerve tissue from the vertebrae and then threaded the pieces with thick wire._

_He placed two arms beside each other, one left arm from the male, and one left arm from the female. He wrapped them together tightly, embedding them with metal skewers to keep them sturdy. When he was finished with the left arms he repeated the steps on the right._

_Once all the pieces were finished he began to put them together. Rods, rope, wire and thread was used to connect the pieces and give the work stability. When he was finished, he took a step back and admired his work. For a moment he felt giddy in anticipation as he waited. He looked around as if expecting an applause from some unseen audience and when there was nothing…_

_Something akin to a whiplash suddenly threw Will off balance. He stumbled to recapture the mind he was interpreting but the change in mood had been so intense, and so unexpected. He saw flashes of images, of fur and feathers and bloodied claws. When he was finally able to latch on he was lifted off his feet, and swept away. It was a struggle to remain in control as the killer’s fury grew. He grabbed a pair of scissors from his bag and flew to his creation. He grabbed one of the arms by the wrist and clipped of the fingers, continuing to do the same to each before he collapsed backwards in emotional exhaustion.  
_

Will blinked and shook his head, ridding himself of the killer’s persona, and the troubling images he had witnessed. His hands trembled as he returned his glasses to his face. A figure caught his eyes for a moment, and he recognised it as the stag. It watched him intently.

“So?”

Will turned to Jack, “They have some medical knowledge, though not very much,” Will said, “They’re young, as Dr. Lecter pointed out, probably a university student.”

“Okay,” Jack nodded, “And?”

“The killer thinks they’re creating something,” Will said, “They’re intelligent, I doubt you’ll find any trace of them. There may be problems with his or her parents…”

“Probably a guy,” Zeller pointed out as he looked out from behind the grotesque structure.

Will ignored the comment, “The parents weren’t happy together. They’re probably a dysfunctional family. The killer wants them to be the perfect family.”

“So he’s a match-maker?” Beverly asked.

Jack looked confused as he viewed the murder scene, “Our killer thinks he’s cupid?” then he turned to Will, “Is this a passion crime?”

“This isn’t about passion,” Will shook his head.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know,” Will admitted, “But the ‘match-making’ was a subconscious desire. There’s more to this kill.” he paused, rubbing his head in frustration. 

The stag had wanted Will to see more, it had wanted to help. Will knew it was all there. He just couldn’t see it.

He shook his head, “To some extent the killer thought they were freeing their victims, and in doing so were somehow freeing themselves.”

“To some extent? Somehow?” Jack grimaced, “You don’t sound so sure Will. Do you know what he’s doing or not?”

“I’m just telling you what I can see. It probably won’t make much sense yet,” Will sighed.

“Try harder,” Jack ordered.

“I’m doing my best,” Will scoffed.

He could see the stag had moved closer. It stood just behind Jack, staring at the man. It looked angry, if that were even possible.

“It’s like I can see only the physical evidence,” Will continued, “and only hints of what the killer is really thinking. I just can’t get into their head.”

Jack just stared, “Try _harder_!” he ordered.

Will gritted his teeth. From behind Jack, the stag seemed to nod at him, as if in agreement with his frustration.

“There’s something blocking me!” Will protested.

The throbbing behind his eyes suddenly intensified and he grunted in pain. He rubbed at his eyes till he saw stars, and when he opened them again he staggered backwards in shock. He was still in the school gymnasium but everyone had disappeared, and in their place stood a large black bear.

Will felt terrified. This could only be a hallucination or a dream but his body reacted nonetheless; it froze up, refusing to allow him the ‘fight or flight’ response. Instead the adrenaline coursed through his veins, making him jittery and breathless. He felt light-headed. The bear growled, and began to move forward, slowly at first, and then at a run. Will raised his arms in defence, as futile as the action was, and felt himself begin to fall. 

Someone was calling his name. They were trying to bring him back. He saw stag horns, and reached for them. His world went black, and silent.

_“Will?”_

He knew that voice.

_“Will, what do you see?”_

_“Nothing,”_ Will responded.

“Will?”

“I can’t see anything.”

“Will!”

Will opened his eyes. He was back. He sat up and massaged his aching forehead. Beverly knelt beside him, a hand on his shoulder, while, Jack, Zeller and Price watched him carefully. Jack looked angry, while the rest just looked worried.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well!?” Jack growled.

“I’m never feeling well,” Will told him as he stood with the help of Beverly, “I cope, I see an unofficial psych and I move on.”

“Well-”

Beverly sent Jack a look and he realised he’d gone too far.

“Have someone take you home,” Jack ordered, “Forensics will see if they can pull a trace on the murderer.”

Beverly smiled at Will. He smiled back, thankful for her sudden mother-hen glare.

“Did I say anything?” he asked.

Beverly looked away, “You just kept saying you ‘couldn’t see anything’.”

Will nodded, feeling humiliated at his lack of control.

She escorted him to a police car, probably worried that he’d faint on the way there. She ordered an officer to take Will home. The man politely agreed and even threw in a couple of ‘mam’s that made Beverly snigger when the young officer was out of ear shot.

“Thanks,” Will said.

Beverly grinned at him, “Don’t worry, we’ll fill you in on all the gory details later,” she winked.

Will wasn’t surprised by her disturbing lack of unease, but that didn’t stop him from wondering how she could do it. How she could stay separate from their horrific work. He had been told once that humour helped.

He never _was_ good at telling jokes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment!


	4. Teenagers these days...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal has an impromptu appointment with a shaken Will.

  
_“The soul possessed its own individuality before its incarnation; it preserves that individuality after its separation from the body.”_

\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

Hannibal was about to walk out of his office when he found Will sitting in the waiting room. He hadn’t expected him at all today.

“Will?”

Will stood, “Dr Lecter,” he rubbed a hand across his neck nervously, “I know we don’t have an appointment…things that have come up and I felt the need to…um…” 

“To have one of our talks?” Hannibal asked, noting that Will looked shaken.

“If that’s alright?”

“Certainly,” Hannibal held the door open for Will, only slightly annoyed that the younger man had interrupted his free time.

Will sat in his usual seat, and then almost immediately stood again, too unsettled to stay in one spot.

“What has happened?” Hannibal asked.

“Those three people who were kidnapped,” Will began, “Two have been found murdered.”

Hannibal was pleasantly surprised by the news, “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“It was horrific,” Will said as he began to pace, “They cut the people up and sowed them together, in a mass of limbs. It was like they were separate from the experience. Their mind was elsewhere. They weren’t cutting up humans, they were making…I’d almost say art.”

“But?” Hannibal prompted.

Will threw up his arms, “But it wasn’t art they were trying to achieve. This is something personal, something…something I haven’t ever seen before. I can’t get into this person’s head.”

Will felt so incredibly useless in that moment. He knew he had the ability to see the murderer’s face but there was something in the way stopping him.

“Do you have access to the files on the two victims?” Hannibal asked, noticing Will had a file in his hand.

Will shook himself, “Oh, yes, right,” he handed the file over, and went back to his pacing.

Hannibal opened the files and was met with the crudely beautiful works of a young artist. Straight away he noticed a sense of confusion. Will was right when he said that the killer had a trouble grasping reality. Hannibal had seen works like this before, in fact he had created pieces like it, albeit he had always known what it was he wanted to achieve. This boy, and yes Hannibal could see that he was male, was the very epitome of ‘teenager’. Confused and unguided, the boy had resorted to attention-seeking. He was trying to create something else from the people he had kidnapped. He was trying to make them more-than-human, and in doing so, make himself more-than.

“Does something of this murder remind you of the angel maker?” Hannibal asked.

Will frowned, and stopped his pacing. He finally seemed to relax, “It does a bit,” he suddenly realised.

Hannibal continued to look over the files, and he began to see more and more of the boy. He had likely just discovered the spirits, and didn’t know what to do with that knowledge. Suddenly Hannibal understood there was more to it than that. He had the sudden urge to laugh but he held it back. He could see from the murder that the boy wanted something. The Doctor could only guess but from what he could tell it seemed as if the boy couldn’t see his own spirit. Whether it was because he couldn’t _yet_ , or if some illness was upsetting the comprehension of such a thing…either way this was absolutely _fascinating_.

“Could this person be trying to create a new persona for themselves?” Hannibal asked Will.

Will didn’t answer straight away, and when he did he sounded unsure, “I…I don’t know,” he said, “They’re trying to make something.”

Hannibal nodded, looking over the beast the boy had tried to create. If the fur and feathers at the foot of the work was any indication Isabel was an eagle and Richard a tiger. The way the boy had combined the two, implied he had tried to make some kind of creature. For a moment this confused Hannibal. If the boy was using a source for this inspiration, he should have used a lion. Tigers were not often used in the creation of mythological beasts. The boy was intelligent, he would know something as simple as that, unless…perhaps it had something to do with his parents. Perhaps the father was a lion. The boy had wanted a new father.

“What is your hypothesis on the killer’s relationship with his parents?” Hannibal asked.

“I believe there’s tension between the father and…” Will stopped, “Why do you say ‘his’? Do you think he’s male too?”

“From this I see hatred toward the male form,” Hannibal replied, “Though the head of the male victim was rearranged lovingly, the body was almost put on display to be mocked. While, the woman is almost completely intact, and portrayed as the mind and heart of…his work.”

Will nodded, “It could still be a young woman.”

Hannibal nodded, “Perhaps.”

“So you think he’s a match-maker to?“ Will asked.

Hannibal smiled when despite his argument Will used the male pronoun, “Partly, I believe he could think himself an Eros, though it is a subconscious belief.”

Will nodded, “Exactly what I told Jack,” he shrugged, “There’s something more to this that I can’t see.”

Hannibal nodded.

It was almost too obvious what the boy wanted. He believed the reason he didn’t have a spirit was due to his father. He was trying to recreate his birth, hoping that it might allow him a spirit of his own. But the spirits retained their individuality, even after separated from the body. They would continue to ‘live on’ right up until the body was decomposed beyond recognition, and then they would move on. The boy never had a chance at binding them to himself. Hannibal almost found it sad. The boy was practically laying himself out for Will but why? Then Hannibal remembered the boy was young. A desperate teenager, with only one thing on his mind, wouldn't care if his intentions were discovered.

Unfortunately, Will couldn’t see any of it. Hannibal would gladly help him to see.

“This odd combination, and display of the two bodies,” Hannibal began, “Does it remind you of something?”

Will shrugged, and Hannibal placed the files down on his desk. He walked over to his bookcases and picked out a book on Greek mythology.

“It almost looks like he tried to create some kind of monster,” Will said, as Hannibal leafed through the pages, “The arms are made to look like wings, the spinal cord is like a tail.”

Hannibal took a look over the files again and then back at his book, as if double checking his theory. He then turned to Will and offered the book to him.

“It reminds me of a griffon,” Hannibal said.

Though, the griffon was made from lion and eagle, if the boy had issues with his father he would alter the work to suit him. Hannibal admired the work as a whole. After all if you could make your own spirit, why not make it extraordinary. The boy was intelligent, curious, creative and had great potential. Hannibal was beginning to like him. Despite the boy’s naivety, and imperfect creations. It reminded Hannibal of himself, if he were to be honest; After all, everyone was a teenager once upon a time.

Will picked up one of the images, “But if the boy were attempting to create a griffon,” Will said, a little skeptical, “and these are the wings…” referring to the fingerless hands.

“He clipped the wings of his creation,” the poetic nature of the idea made Hannibal smile.

“Something went wrong…” Will’s eyes glazed over as he thought, “Something unexpected happened, or didn’t go as planned.”

Hannibal watched in delight as Will’s spirit began to wag its tail. This case was proving to be a fascinating one. Unfortunately the poor boy was incredibly misguided. Perhaps it was fate that his work was shown to Hannibal; he, who had knowledge of these things, and who was willing to help.

“Have you looked at the symbolism of this creature?” the Doctor asked.

Will frowned, “Symbolism?”

“Many creatures have symbolism,” he said, “Perhaps the boy is drawing on the symbolism of a griffon.”

“I’ll consider that,” Will said with a smile.

Hannibal gave a curt and polite bow, closing the book and files and placing them together in a neat pile. He turned to Will and studied him for a moment.

“Perhaps we should take a break from the crime scene,” he said, as he sat, “Take a seat, Will.”

Will looked uncomfortable once more, but despite this he did as the Doctor ordered. His wolf lay down beside his chair, nose resting on its paws.

“Did you rush to your appointment because you ran into a difficult case?” Hannibal asked after a moment.

Will looked away, and laughed, “Am I that easy to read?” he asked.

“You are when your glasses are covered in grime,” Hannibal said.

Will swore, and pulled them from his face as his cheeks reddened. The motion was too fast for his trembling hands, and the glasses flew from his grip, landing on the floor by Hannibal’s feet. The wolf’s hackles rose, and it stood unsurely.

Hannibal didn’t comment, allowing Will to recover from his embarrassment, as he stooped and picked up the glasses. He took out his handkerchief and Will looked up in time to see Hannibal begin to clean them.

He was about to protest but something stopped him. Perhaps it was his embarrassment or perhaps it was the excuse to stare at Hannibal’s hands. Either way, Will was staring. Hannibal had artistic hands, his fingers lithe and skilled. He cleaned Will’s glasses, like he did everything, with meticulous skill and concentration. Will almost laughed when he realised how delicate Hannibal was being with his possession. He worked as if he were working with an ancient artefact, one that held secrets and stories in its material; Will supposed that after all he'd seen, it did in a way. 

Will’s glasses creaked, and for some reason this embarrassed Will further. Hannibal’s touch was gentle, yet it was as if there was some kind of strength in his grip, that usually remained hidden. If he wanted to, Hannibal could crush the glasses in his hands. Something stirred in Will at the thought.

“There,” Hannibal held the glasses up to the light to inspect them.

Will always felt so incredibly dirty when he was with Hannibal. His hair and clothing was always in a state of dishevelment; his hands were always clammy. He wondered, sometimes, if he disgusted the Doctor. Will tensed, and forgot how to breathe, as Hannibal knelt in front of him and placed his glasses back on his face. Then he laughed nervously as he realised he had begun psycho-analysing his own psychiatrist. The psychiatrist who had just cleaned his glasses.

Hannibal looked up at the laugh, thinking it aimed at himself, "A funny thought?”

"You didn't have to clean my glasses, Dr Lecter," Will said, "I'm not completely incapable of taking care of myself.”

The wolf took a step closer to Hannibal, its paws nearly touching his shoes. It watched him, its eyes soft, and almost dreamy. When Will turned away out of self-consciousness, Hannibal stared into the beast’s eyes, and what he saw there was a dark-antlered reflection.

Hannibal smiled, "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about all the changes. I'm just struggling with this story so much. I am enjoying writing it, though, so don't worry. I'll definitely finish it.
> 
> Please leave a comment, I'd love to know what you think of the story so far.


	5. Glimpses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder has taken place and Freddie Lounds appears to annoy everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. I've been really really busy with uni work and family stuff.  
> Please leave a comment, I'll update as soon as possible!

_“…You must understand that a spirit, being a creation, must be something real.  
[but could it be] so ethereal that it could not be perceived by your senses.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

Will is sadly unsurprised to find himself back at a crime scene. The victim, Simon Walker, was the third of the kidnapped trio. His murder was different from the last but there was an obvious connection. Walker had been skinned, and his skin draped around the shoulders of a fake skeleton. What was left of him, gory and ill-prepared had been dumped at the feet of the skeleton.

Will closed his eyes. He felt nauseous. If he had found more from the last two murders he might have been able to save this boy.

“Will?”

Will nodded at Jack and went to work. He closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing. Once, twice and for a third time.

_  
“I hadn’t expected a struggle.”_

_He’s standing over the boy’s body, hands clasped around his wrists. Simon’s struggling against his grip but his movements are dazed._

_“You shouldn’t have woken.”_

_He manages to smack the boys head backwards and he goes limp. He pulls out his equipment and searches for the scalpel._

_“You won’t open your eyes again.”_

_He undresses the boy, turns him over and begins to slice into the skin at his neck and shoulders, “I skin you like the beast you are.”_

_He peals the skin from the boy’s back, being careful not to make a tear, and when he is finished he stands and carries it to the skeleton, “and I adorn man with your hide.”_

_He takes the bloodied corpse and with a grunt drops it at the skeletons feet, “You were nothing before. But now you can be useful.”_

_He takes a step back and admires his work, “This is my design.”  
_

Will came to.

He looked around for a moment to ground himself, he saw Hannibal watching him and their eyes met for a moment before Hannibal politely looked away.

“What did you get?” Jack asked in a booming voice.

Will turned to him with a sigh, “This was personal,” he explained, “This was in response to somebody he didn’t like.”

“What kind of person?” Jack asked.

“Somebody who thought they were better than him.”

“And?”

Will didn't want to look at Jack and he didn’t want to look at the body so he found himself staring at Hannibal again. To anyone else the Doctor might look like he was curiously examining the crime scene but there was something off about inspected everything. Will watched his gaze. Hannibal wasn’t looking at the crime scene. He was watching the people. Will squinted. No he was watching the spaces between the people.

“Will?”

Will turned abruptly, remembering he was meant to be talking with Jack. He thought for a moment.

“There’s something ritualistic about all of this,” he said.

Will watched the others work. Zeller was going through the files, while Price prodded the body and Katz took photos of the skin. Will saw a flicker in the corner of his eye and turned to follow it. He thought it was a bird for a moment but…

“Anything else?”

Zeller waved a hand at the file in front of him, “There were bones missing from the last two victims…?”

“And the humerus - uh…arm bone - has been sawn off and poorly extracted from this guy,” Price added.

“Trophies?” Jack asked.

“Looks like,” Katz nodded.

Will’s gaze fell upon Beverly. He stared. There was a small brown bird sitting upon her shoulder. He wasn’t sure if he should say something or not.

“You okay, Will?”

He looped up to meet Beverly’s gaze, she gave him a lopsided smile. He didn’t have to look back at her shoulder to know the bird was no longer there. He gave a quick nod before turning and hurrying away. He could vageuly hear the others arguing.

“Could this a bestiality kink?” Price asked.

Zeller scoffed, “There was no traces of semen or saliva.”

“Not yet,” Price said.

“Well don’t get your hopes up,” Katz laughed.

Will cringed at the sound of laughter at a crime scene. He kept trying to think about the victim, and why this one was different. The first victims had been rearranged almost lovingly. The killer had wanted rebirth, he had wanted to be better. He had wanted to have a say in his recreation. Will could understand that. Will wondered if the rebirth was somehow spiritual.

“Anything else, Will?”

“Maybe it’s got something to do with spirituality…he’s…he wants rebirth of some kind,” he said, “But this victim…this victim is about getting back at someone. Study Simon Walker’s character,” he added, “it will give us an idea of who this was aimed at.”

“And that can help us find a person who knows him?”

Will shrugged, “Maybe.”

“Anything else?”

“No,” Will said, “Not yet.”

Jack grimaced, “This is worrying me, Will.”

Will could see Zeller, Price and Katz look up at that. He felt like a kid in the playground being told off for not socialising.

“You’ve become very defensive,” Jack continued, “I feel like you’re not telling me something.”

He had a headache again, “I still can’t see him that well.”

“But you can see more than you’re telling me.”

Will wondered if it had meant to be a question; it hadn’t sounded like it. He didn’t care. He didn’t want to care. There was a pounding in his head, right behind his eyes, like footsteps but not, like…like…A dark shape shimmered in the corner of his eye. Dark horns snaked into his field of vision, and then the stag reared its head and bellowed.

“Will?”

“I don’t know!”

-

Hannibal waited on the outskirts of the crime scene, watching Will as he worked. The new murder was different from the last and yet followed similar patterns. Hannibal wondered if Will could see it yet but if the confused expression he had sent Hannibal’s way was any indication he assumed not.

Something fiery red sparked in the corner of his eye, like a willow-the-wisp. Hannibal didn’t have to guess what it was. The spectre-like shape took the form of a woman, with elegant perfume that smelled more spicy than sweet.

“Ms Lounds,” Hannibal greeted.

“Dr Lecter.”

Hannibal gave her a once over. She wore black leather, with a touch of blue from her scarf; the blue complemented her hair. Her black-gloved hands held a camera tight in their grasp but Hannibal knew she couldn’t get a a good photo from this angle. He supposed that was why she was in fact talking to him.

“Lovely morning,” Hannibal noted.

“Lovely morning for a murder,” Freddie Lounds said sarcastically.

They hadn’t yet turned to one another, instead choosing to watch Will. The man stumbled slightly and soon after an argument broke out between him and Jack. Hannibal would have interrupted it, and guided Will away with comforting words if Freddie Lounds hadn’t spoken before he could make up his mind.

“You see it, don’t you?” she asked.

Hannibal paused, and turned to her. She still only had eyes for Will. He wondered if she meant more than she had said. He surreptitiously looked to her feet where her spirit curled around her leg like a playful yet cautious cat.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hannibal answered.

Ms Lounds gestured towards the distraught, dishevelled, not-FBI agent, “I can see Will Graham,” she paused and then added, “I know what he is, even if you or he won’t admit to it. I know.”

Hannibal smiled and turned to her. She watched him carefully, “You’re quite the fox, Miss Lounds,” he watched her eyes widen. She hadn’t known he could see her spirit till now. He allowed her a moment as the knowledge sunk in, before he added, “Attempting to turn me against Will Graham is not a good idea.”

Freddie’s fox stepped out in front of her, studying Hannibal with golden eyes. The Doctor saw the false bravado in the act. If she had known Hannibal could see her spirit she never would have kept it so close to her.

“Where’s yours today?” she asked, looking about him.

He knew she was curious as to how his spirit could be wander so far from him and hers could not. He often told people he didn’t know why, just to gage their reaction and opinions on the matter. 

“Its around,” Hannibal answered.

“A stag?” Freddie asked.

Hannibal gave a curt nod.

Freddie considered this for a moment, “A wolf does not make good company for a stag, Dr Lecter.” 

It was a quick change in tactic. Hannibal admired the woman for her swift thinking.

“Even one that believes itself to be a dog,” she added.

“Perhaps, Miss Lounds, but have you ever seen a stag protect its territory?”

Freddie laughed purposefully, “This crime is going to be the one that breaks him,” she said, taking the threat in stride.

Hannibal didn't agree. It wouldn’t be this one.

Freddie smiled, “Good day, Dr Lecter,” and then she turned, throwing a quick, “Good day, Will,” over her shoulder.

Hannibal had noticed Will sneak up on them, and had ignored it. He turned to Will as if surprised by his appearance, and noticed that he wasn’t alone. Beverly Katz stood beside him.

Will grimaced, obviously having heard what Freddie Lounds had said.

“She’s a piece of work,” Beverly muttered.

Will nodded, “And as sly as a fox.”

Hannibal couldn’t help the smirk that spread over his face. Not for the first time, he wondered if Will saw more than he let on.

“What happened?” Hannibal asked.

He could tell Will was not in a good mood. His cheeks were slightly flushed from shouting, and his forehead clammy from what Hannibal could only guess was another bout of stress.

“Jack told Will to go home,” Beverly said.

She patted Will’s arm and told him she would see him soon at work.

"He used those exact words?” Hannibal asked when she was gone.

Will didn’t answer.

“Shall you ride with me, Will?”

The not-FBI agent gave a nod.


	6. Herakles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will got a text from Beverly en route to Hannibal’s psychiatric office in Baltimore, Maryland, where Will’s car was parked. The text said that Freddie Lounds had posted the new crime on tattlecrimes.com. Will clicked the link and sighed.

_"Spirits are the individualization of the intelligent principle,  
as bodies are the individualization of the material principle.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._  


Will got a text from Beverly en route to Hannibal’s psychiatric office in Baltimore, Maryland where Will’s car was parked. The text said that Freddie Lounds had posted the new crime on tattlecrimes.com. Will clicked the link and sighed.

“What is it?”

“Freddie is calling this killer _Modern Herakles_ ,” Will said.

“The first murder was the recreation of a Greek Myth,” Hannibal pointed out, “And this murder reflects the myth of Herakles and the Nemean Lion. He skinned the beast and wore its fur like armour.”

Will sighed.

“Does this killer perceive himself as a hero, Will?”

“No,” Will said surely, “And he would hate the title. It’s a human hero.”

Hannibal nodded.

“He would rather be the lion.”

 

When they arrived at Hannibal’s office Will collapsed in one of the chairs, while Hannibal organised a few papers. He returned with a glass of water and aspirin for Will’s headache.

“Why has Herakles gone from making a monster, to skinning a human?”

“I don’t know,” Will sighed.

“Does he think he is God?”

“No…he doesn’t see himself as more than human,” Will said, “In fact…he sees himself as less than.”

“So he is becoming human by turning humans into beasts?”

“No- Yes…” he groaned, “I feel like I’m on the edge of understanding him.”

“Do you feel frustrated, Will?”

“Yes.”

“And are you having nightmares?”

“Yes.”

“Do they involve this boy?”

“Yes...and no,” Will didn’t want to talk about it.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, “How does our killer see humanity?” he asked, changing the subject.

“He’s usually indifferent, but in these instances he has lashed out in…anger…confusion…he created that beast,” Will said, “But he did the first so delicately, so carefully. And then with the next victim. The murderer was still careful with the boy’s skin, just not with the rest of him. Herakles cared about certain parts of them. But not the man’s head, and not the boy’s body. It’s almost like…like he owned them but decided they would be better off without certain parts.”

“Like they were pets?”

“No…” he shook his head, “it’s more personal than that. It’s like they were a part of him.”

“Like a spirit?”

Will frowned, “Why would you say that?”

Hannibal shrugged, “It was what came to mind.”

Will looked away and thought about the idea.

“What were you going to say, Will?”

“I was going to say that they were like family.”

Hannibal nodded, “An interesting concept.”

“Yours is more interesting,” Will said, “And strange.”

“In what way?”

Will frowned, “If he saw these people as family why would he turn them into beasts? You're correct in your assumption that there is something spiritual about this.”

“Are you familiar with Native American beliefs, Will?”

Will shook his head.

“They believed that they were descendants of animals. Each clan had their own spirit animal, and when they died they returned to the sky in the form of that animal. They believed that these spirits danced in harmony, in the form of bright lights in the sky. What we know as Auroras.”

“That’s very interesting, Dr Lecter,” Will said, “But I don’t really understand what that has to do with Herakles.”

Hannibal gave a small smile, “I’m afraid neither do I, Will, it was simply what came to mind.”

Will stared for a moment, thinking back on what he had seen at the crime scene: The bird, the stag.

“I think our session is over for now, Will.”

Hannibal hadn’t even looked at the clock. He had an uncanny ability to tell the time without it. Hannibal hated being late, so Will supposed it was just another one of Hannibal’s polite quirks.

Will stood, “Thank you, Dr. Lecter.”

“Any time, Will,” the Doctor answered, “And I mean it. Call me any time.”

Will smiled awkwardly for a moment before leaving.

-

Out of all Hannibal’s dinner guests he thought Alana was the most polite. Though, most of Hannibal’s meals demanded earlier preparation, Alana always offered to help, and he could hardly deny the gracious offer. He positioned Alana at one bench that already had a cutting board and knife ready, and passed her an apron.

“What are we cooking tonight?”

“Lamb Tagliata with watercress and tomatoes,” Hannibal answered.

“Fancy.”

Alana set about cutting up the baby plum tomatoes as Hannibal retrieved the earlier-prepared lamb from the fridge. His stag was wondering the house, and keeping a reasonable distance from Alana’s mare. The beast seemed to scare easily, and had an uncanny knack for picking up on something in the stag’s demeanour that didn’t quite fit with her belief about his character. He often enjoyed testing the boundaries of this uncertainty. But not tonight; tonight he had other plans.

“How is Will?”

Hannibal had expected the question, “He is coping.”

“He has grown more and more distant,” she said.

Hannibal nodded, taking note of her mare’s sudden skittish behaviour, as he began to wipe the herbs from the lamb steaks, “I have noticed,” he said. He added flaky salt, “His dreams have worsened too.” Then he seasoned it further with freshly ground black pepper.

“He’s been ignoring my texts and calls.”

Alana took the tomatoes over to Hannibal in a bowl, just as he added the steak to the pan, “Will has not been very social of late.”

“Will? Social?” She gave a sad, false-laugh, “I’ve talked to Jack. There’s something about this one that has Will stumped.”

“Could you pass me the redcurrant jelly?” Hannibal asked, “It’s in the fridge, middle shelf. I believe Will sees something of himself in this boy.”

The mare positioned itself by his side but did not meet his eyes as Alana retrieved the bowl of jelly from the fridge and brought it to him. 

“A thirst for affection?” she asked.

Hannibal shook his head, “Acceptance,” and he turned the steaks over, “This boy wants to be like everyone else.”

“The killer tried to create the perfect parents. Is Will having trouble connecting with this boy because of unresolved family issues?” 

“I would not disregard the idea,” Hannibal answered, turning the stove off, and spooning the meat and tomatoes into a bowl.

“Do you think it has anything to do with Abigail?”

“Perhaps,” he lied; Will couldn’t connect with the boy because he couldn’t see the connection.

Hannibal scooped a teaspoon of redcurrant jelly into a bowl, added 2 tablespoons of vinegar and began to whisk. He then added capers and poured the juice from the frying pan into the bowl.

Alana began to slice the homemade bread, “I’m worried for him.”

“As am I,” Hannibal told her, “He knows how far to push himself; We can only hope he will stop when it becomes too much.”

“You know he won’t,” the mare huffed.

“Then for his sake should we demand Jack release him?” Hannibal asked, retrieving the lamb and slicing it on an angle, “Will is no prisoner. He was given the choice to leave and he declined. He knows he that he is helping people.”

“But at what cost, Hannibal?” Alana asked in horror, “I cannot just stand by and watch Will burn.”

Hannibal stopped what he was doing to turn to Alana, “What you must understand Alana, is that you and I cannot save Will. Only Will can save himself.”

Alana gave a defeated sigh, and Hannibal placed a hand on her shoulder. Her mare calmed at the touch, its breathing evening out slowly. She trusted him.

“Whether or not we agree with the situation, Will needs to see this one through. It would hurt him too much to leave this boy alone in the dark.”

“As much as it pains me to see Will suffer, I agree with you,” Alana said, “But we must keep a close eye on him. Will you do that for me?”

“If he will let me.”

She smiled, “He trusts you.”

Hannibal removed his hand and spread the pink-lamb and scarlet tomatoes over a platter of fresh spring-green watercress. Then he drizzled a spoon of deep-red dressing over the dish, and finished it off with crumbled white feta. Warm crusty white bread was to be served on the side, along with a Fitz-Ritter Pfalz Gewürztraminer Spätlese, 2011 - a white wine that none of his dinner guests could ever pronounce.


	7. The Devil is in the Details

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's been another murder, and Will's hallucinations worsen because of it.

_"Poor human beings who debase yourselves below the brutes! Do you not know how to distinguish yourselves from them? Recognize the superiority of man by his possessing the notion of the existence of God.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

His bare feet padded the forest floor. His pack were all about him, their fur tickling his legs. They ran and wandered back, watching him, wining and yipping in hurry but he didn’t have the strength to run with them. He felt tired, and heavy. He looked down and saw ropes binding his feet and trailing off into the distance. He was dragging something. He stared into the darkness behind him and wondered what it was that was so heavy. He wondered what he could do if he came across the hyena; there was no way he could outrun it like this. He was held back by something, and all he wanted to do was run.

The tree branches bowed towards him as the stag appeared from the depths of the forest. It huffed, watching him with its knowing gaze. It knew he was trapped. His pack scattered about its hooves, watching with curiosity. It seemed not to notice them. Will wanted to ask for its help but he felt embarrassed. He suddenly realised it was his fault that he was trapped. But he couldn’t remember why. The stag seemed to know what he wanted without him ever having said a word; it circled him and bowed its head, curling its horns through and around the rope before snapping its head back. The rope tore and Will leapt forward.

—

Will woke with a jolt. Then when he recognised his ceiling he lay back down and tried to catch his breath. He turned over to check the time and realised with dismay that he had slept through his alarm and would never make it to Hannibal’s office in time for his appointment. He grabbed his phone and was about to ring the doctor when he saw that he had a missed call from Hannibal and several from Jack. He assumed that the only reason both of men would call is if there was new evidence for the Herakles case. Rather than call Jack, however, Will called Hannibal.

“Will?”

Will was surprised to hear a hint of relief in the voice, “Uh yeah,” he responded, “I’m really sorry I slept through my alarm again.”

“It’s alright,” Hannibal answered, “Jack and I were only worried that you hadn’t answered your phone.”

“I’m assuming theres been a breakthrough?”

“Unfortunately not,” Hannibal said, “There’s been another murder, Will.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face, “Where do I need to be?”

“I’m 20 mins from your house, that should be enough time for you to shower and change.”

“You didn’t come all the way here just to check on me…”

“I had to know you were alright, Will, you’re my patient and my friend.”

He was taken aback by Hannibal’s concern. He had also said he was Will’s _’friend’_. The thought made Will smile.

“I’ll see you then, Dr Lecter.”

“See you soon, Will.”

 

Will dressed quickly and was waiting by the door when he saw Hannibal pull up into his driveway. He quickly walked to the car and climbed into the passages seat, apologising for the trouble and trying to think of a way he could make it up to Hannibal.

“No apology is necessary, Will,” Hannibal said.

But Will didn’t think so. Hannibal wore a small frown that Will didn’t think he’d ever seen there before. He wanted to ask about it, or even better, he wanted to make it go away. Hannibal noticed him staring and gave him a quick once over, grasping from a glance that Will had noticed him in turn.

“Jack and I had an argument,” Hannibal admitted.

“About me?”

“About you,” the doctor nodded, “You do too much for others, and this is part of the consequence.”

“All I did was sleep in,” Will said with a soft smile; he enjoyed Hannibal’s fretting over him.

“Which is a sign of irregular sleeping patterns due to stress,” Hannibal explained, “You’re also hallucinating, are you not?”

Will nodded. Hannibal caught the action from the corner of his eye and nodded in response.

 

When they arrived at the crime scene Jack met Will with a grimace, “This one happened last night,” he said, “There’s a lot different with this one. We think he’s getting more confident.”

“That’s never a good sign,” Will said.

“The heart and brain have been removed but the heart is missing. There was a note. Before you ask it’s typed so we can’t track it, and all it says is ‘Choose’,” Jack said, “The stable’s clear, go on in,” and then he turned to Hannibal, “Dr Lecter I want a word.”

Will watched Hannibal raise an eyebrow and nod before following Jack away from the stable. Will sighed and opened the barn door. A large animal cage, with its door ajar, sat within the centre of the room, and inside the cage knelt a young man. If you ignored the blood spilled about him it merely looked as if he were bent over, praying. His hands were stretched out in front of him, palms up, as if in offering. In his hands were a heart. Will assumed it was his own.

Will closed his eyes. The pendulum swung. One…two…three…four.

__

_He watches the man struggle against his restraints. He is dazed from the drugs and bound tight and gagged, forced to watch his to-be-killer drag a cage into the room._

_“You know my face,” he says, “But you can’t remember where from. I’m not significant enough for you to remember me.”_

_He sets the cage down with a clang, and returns to the man with a scalpel._

_“No one will remember you.”_

_He cuts and rips through the man’s shirt, not caring for the material and begins to slice into the man’s chest. The man shakes and cries out around his gag._

_“Shhh,” he tells the man, “I’ll make it better. You’re not fit for this life. You think you’re a predator but you’re only a scavenger.”_

_He turns and growls the last part at the dog sitting beside the man. It whimpers and cowers, watching as he slices and cuts deeper and deeper, reaching in to hold the man’s heart in his hand before ripping it from its confines. The dog falls silent._

_“I’m the predator,” he tells the man, staring at his heart in his hands, “Watch me make an artwork of you.”_

_He places the heart on the ground and begins to work on the man’s head. Once he has removed both heart and brain he fixes what he can as best he can, sowing and stapling the man together. He positions the limp man’s limp body within the cage, and hands him his brain and heart._

_The cleans his hands and places the note at the foot of the cage. The choice is clear. He closes the cage door, and smiles at his work, at his gift._

_“This is my design.”_

__

Will came back to himself with a start, exiting the stable and walking over to Jack with urgency. Jack looked up and turned to him, about to ask what Will saw.

“Th-this isn’t Herakles,” Will said, rubbing his aching forehead.

“What?”

“This isn’t Herakles.”

Hannibal turned to him with a frown, “Are you sure Will?”

“I’m sure,” He nodded, “This is a copycat.”

Jack swore, “Another one?”

Will nodded again, “He’s trying to show Herakles how to do, whatever he’s doing, correctly. The copycat gave Herakles a choice between the dog’s brain and heart. He must have contacted Herakles some way…It was slightly condescending how he gave Herakles a choice but then again it could be a compliment. If Herakles finds it insulting he’ll lash out, and possibly slip up, but if he sees this as an offering…then he’ll be even harder to catch.”

“So which did Herakles think it was. A compliment or an insult?” Jack asked.

Will shook his head unsurely, “The fact that he took the brain implies that he was going along with the copycat’s lesson, which could mean he accepted the trophy and thought the killing was a compliment but then it could mean that he was too frightened to decline the offering.”

“So we won’t know until he strikes again,” Jack said, “Unless we catch him before then.” He turned to his crew, “I want information on that cage and on that man’s identity now!”

Will watched the men and women move back and forth. A ferret curled around a woman’s foot, and mouse ran by, a cat pounced over the rushing feet and followed a messy-haired man, and birds perched on several officer’s shoulders. It was getting worse the more he looked, he realised. The more he looked the more animals he was hallucinating and now…now he was hallucinating a fricking scene from Disney’s Snow White and he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

Hannibal seemed to notice his discomfort because he stepped forward and caught Jack’s attention.

“I’m taking Will home now,” he said firmly.

Will watched the bear behind Jack eye Hannibal and for a moment Will thought the doctor reacted to its gaze by standing a little taller. Will had to look away. He couldn’t be sure of anything in this state, and he really really didn’t want to let himself start believing what he was seeing. 

As he climbed into Hannibal’s car he decided it was best to laugh.

“Something funny, Will?”

He shook his head and continued laughing, “Not even remotely.”

Will’s laughter slowly dissolved into silence and that was when Hannibal spoke up again, “Will, you called the victim a dog.”

He visibly paled at the statement, “D-did I? I…I must have been channelling the copycat.”

He had seen a dog while in the killer's head. He wondered if the dog had actually been there...or if...if he had hallucinated it. If that was true then he was no longer a reliable source. But Jack was already breaking rules to get him to look at the crimes. Jack wouldn't stop bringing him in just because there was a possibility he wasn’t stable enough to give any more accurate information.

"Perhaps it would be best if you took the rest of the week off,” Hannibal suggested.

Will didn’t respond but he knew Hannibal was right. He needed to recuperate and sleep this off. He was beginning to question whether he should see a medical doctor as well. Hannibal would probably have contacts.

There was a long silence before Hannibal sighed, “Will you have dinner with me, Will?” he asked, “Tomorrow night, if you’re not feeling ill.”

Will laughed, “You don’t have to keep checking on me, Dr Lecter.”

“I was simply asking for your presence at my dinner table, and not just because I worry about you,” Hannibal answered smoothly, “I asked because I enjoy your company.”


	8. Dinner with the Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Where do you think the soul resides, Will?”_

_  
"If spirits had not had a beginning, they would be equal with God.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

The first thing Will did when he woke up was check his mobile phone. He had slept through his alarm again but this time no texts were waiting for him. His dogs whined as he got up. He nudged them aside with his feet and laughed lightly at their grunts of annoyance. Most of them followed him into the kitchen, their little feet padding softly on the laminated floor. He made his dogs breakfast and ate at his dining table, wondering what to do with himself. He decided he probably needed to go shopping. He was nearly out of dog food and his milk was running low. He had a shower, dressed and got in his car.

At first nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary; he saw men, women and children walking an array of pets. But then the animals began to become stranger, and when Will saw a large yellow snake follow a fat man, and a sheep trotting beside a middle-aged woman he realised he was still hallucinating. Will tried to ignore it but they just seemed so real. He couldn’t help staring when he could. At a red light a mother and daughter passed. A small horse followed them and on the little girl’s shoulder sat a tiny bird. Will watched as the little girl reached up and rustled the feathers of the bird.

_HONK_

He jumped at the noise, and looked up to see that the lights had turned green. He drove forward but his mind was back with the little girl. If the bird hadn’t been there, why had she seemed to pet it? He thought he should be terrified at the depth of his hallucinations but he couldn’t help feeling slightly in awe of it. It wasn’t violent or bloody for once, and he thought he might as well enjoy it while it didn’t hurt him.

He shopped distractedly. He wondered whether he was actually hallucinating or just channelling Herakles. If this was the case, there was a possibility that the boy was schizophrenic. But then again Will had never found himself channelling a killer so distinctly, let alone channelling such a strange element of their psyche. He planned to call Jack and mention the idea before heading over to Hannibal’s house for dinner.

—

Will parked outside Hannibal’s house and got out. He procured a white Chardonnay from a cold box he’d brought and watched as a balding man jogged passed, followed by a raggedy-looking monkey. Will laughed at the sight and walked up to Hannibal’s front door. As he rang the doorbell he wondered for a moment what animal Hannibal would have. It would probably be as elegant and regal as Hannibal himself.

Hannibal met him with a smile, “How are you, Will?”

“Better, thanks.”

Hannibal took the wine and led Will into the dining room, “You’re just in time,” he said, “I have finished cooking our dinner.” 

Will tried to subtly scan the room but there was no animal in sight. He wondered if not everyone had animals or if he was in fact getting better. Will took his seat as Hannibal went to fetch their meal. He returned with a dish that, unsurprisingly, smelled delicious.

“Katsu Pork with sticky Rice,” Hannibal said in his thick, foreign accent, “A dish taught to me by my aunt.”

Will perked up at that little piece of information. He knew so very little about Hannibal, apart from his career choices, that any fact the doctor divulged he gobbled up greedily.

“Your aunt?” Will asked, “Were you close to her?”

Hannibal nodded as he sat down, “I was, though it was a strange relationship,” he admitted, “I lived with her through my early teenage years. She was not my blood relative,” he explained, “But we were family in mind and in loneliness.”

Will frowned at that. He had never pictured Hannibal’s past to be lonely. He had a sudden urge to take the man’s hand and reassure him just as Hannibal had done for him all those times. But he stopped himself. Instead he skewered a piece of golden pork fillet and ate it. He praised Hannibal’s cooking.

The doctor smiled.

“I wish I could cook,” Will said absentmindedly, “I mean I know how to cook,” he rephrased, “but only simple dishes.”

“Perhaps I could give you a few tips,” Hannibal offered.

Will had been about to take another bite of the meat but he paused and put his fork back down on his plate. He didn’t understand what Hannibal was doing. He could deal with the patient-doctor relationship but slowly bit by bit Hannibal was wheedling his way into Will’s spare time. Not that he was complaining about that. He enjoyed the doctor’s company but that was the problem, Hannibal was his doctor.

“Dr Lecter,” he began, “You called us friends. Is that appropriate considering our professional roles?”

Hannibal smiled at him, “I make a habit of befriending all my patients, Will.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Hannibal said, “You’re not an official patient and you are an interesting person. I find your company far more pleasing than the company of my other colleagues or patients. You are correct in saying that it is not, perhaps, a professional relationship. Your experiences and wellbeing have become more than a professional concern of mine. However, if you feel uncomfortable with the developments of our relationship and my offer of friendship then please do inform me.”

“No,” Will said, “I-I enjoy your company too, doctor. I…would like us to be friends.”

“If we are to be friends, Will, please call me Hannibal.”

“Uh, okay, Hannibal.”

Hannibal seemed pleased. The following silence unnerved Will, though, and without much else to think about he resolved to considering the recent case. It seemed Hannibal was on a similar page.

“Where do you think the soul resides, Will?”

“I don’t know if I believe in anything like that, Dr- Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiled at the slip, “There is a global debate that the soul resides in either the brain or the heart.”

Will considered this, “You think this is what the copycat was implying?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal said, before taking a sip of his wine, “It would explain much.” 

“There is definitely a spiritual aspect to the case. I just can’t link it. Maybe the copycat understands Herakles better than I do,” Will said, feeling a bit useless.

“It is only natural for a killer to identify more easily with another killer,” Hannibal said in response to Will’s apparent deflation of self-confidence, “It would be worrying if you could relate as easily.”

Will nodded unsurely, and played with the food in front of him.

“How much do you understand this copycat?” Hannibal asked.

“I’ve only ever dealt with a few,” he admitted, “But this one seems like the rest. Intelligent, over-confident in their ability, condescending. He sees himself as a king upon a throne.”

“Not unlike the Chesapeake Ripper.”

Will almost dropped his fork, “The Chesapeake Ripper? Y-yes, I guess…” he frowned. He placed his fork down on the table and thought, “You don’t think this copycat is him?”

Hannibal placed his utensils down and stared across the table as if in deep thought. Then he looked up at Will, “I wasn’t sure if I was merely seeing clues where there weren’t any. I did not wish to bring it up incase the information made you relapse into mental instability. You have been struggling immensely lately. But I do not lie to you know when I say I have contemplated the concept several times.”

“You should have at least told Jack,” Will said.

“And he would have talked to you.”

Will shook his head, “It fits the characteristic profile of the Chesapeake Ripper but he has always seemed like the perfect, self-reliant and solitary killer. Why would he play copycat for this…boy?”

“Perhaps you misread his crime as a compliment instead of a mockery?” Hannibal asked.

Will shook his head, “No, the Chesapeake Ripper is too clever for that, and I think he’s complimenting the boy…But it could be false. By complimenting the boy and deviating from his signature kills he could be mocking us.”

“If it is the Chesapeake Ripper,” Hannibal said.

“The killer had medical knowledge and skill with a scalpel. He knew his way around that man’s body. The murder had everything, mutilation, extensive research, carefully designed scene practically screaming metaphors and superior intellect,” Will laughed nervously, “I don’t know how I missed.”

“If this is the Chesapeake Ripper, what does he want?”

“In this copycat kill he was almost daring the boy to be as good as him without expecting him to live up to his potential. It’s as if the Chesapeake Ripper wants to be bettered.”

“It was a test of the boy’s ability?” Hannibal asked, “But to what end? Was he attempting to see whether or not the boy was fit to pass on his legacy?”

“Herakles wouldn’t be his heir. No, the Chesapeake Ripper is leaving a mockery hidden by a compliment. He’s humiliating him by rewriting his plan, practically demanding that he choose between two body parts he had never considered to be part of his design. There is a vacant seat beside the Chesapeake Ripper but it is not Herakles.”

“Why then?”

“He wants to see how the boy would react.”

“Do you believe the Ripper has a seat beside him, then, prepared for another?”

“He’s not ill and he is sure of his ability. He knows he won’t get caught. He’d rather die than hand over his legacy to someone else. This is more about…loneliness,” Will frowned, “He’s lonely.”

“It will be the trait that gets him caught,” Hannibal said, “Unless he learns to overcome it. The Chesapeake Ripper is teetering on the edge of your perception. If he falls, will you be there to catch him, Will?”

Will nodded, “I’ll try.”


	9. The Nemean Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is able to give the FBI a clearer profile, one they can use. If they find Herakles, and if they catch him, surely that will be it? But maybe there's a bigger picture here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't have my laptop for a couple of weeks so the next update might take a while. Sorry! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please leave a comment I'd love to know how you're enjoying the story, if you think it could be better, if I've made grammatical or spelling mistakes or what you hope will happen?

__

__

"[It is the] poverty of human speech [that it is] incompetent to define what transcends human intelligence.”

\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

Will contacted Jack the morning after his dinner with Hannibal. He did not tell him their theories about the Chesapeake Ripper’s involvement. Will thought about what Hannibal had said, and he didn’t want the FBI chasing phantoms until he was certain there was a possibility that the Chesapeake Ripper was involved. What Will _was_ ready to discuss was Herakles. He suddenly felt confident he could give the FBI what they needed. Jack was all ears when Will told him this. It wasn’t long before he was sitting in the FBI station in Quantico, Virginia, discussing the killer.

“The first killing was to do with his parents. He has a bad relationship with his father,” Will explained, “The second case was about sibling rivalry, he wants to be as good as his brother or sister but he can’t. They have something he doesn’t. He’s envious of th-their…” 

Will remembered the name Lounds had given the killer but the boy would rather be the monster than the hero…he’d rather be the lion. The boy skinned his metaphorical sibling like a lion…but his body was useless. He was jealous of the skin of the lion. The boy wasn’t some twisted Herakles, he was the Nemean Lion. Will knew without a doubt that he couldn’t reveal this to Jack. It would only cause problems, and if later he told Jack about the his and Hannibal’s theories on the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack would only listen if he thought Will was in a good frame of mind.

“He’s envious of their abilities. He thinks they don’t deserve them.”

Will could see the bear prowling behind Jack and he felt uneasy as it stared at him. Will watched it, and spoke carefully, as if one false move would cause it to attack him.

“He wants to be his own…” _creature_ , “person. He wants to be able to recreate himself, apart from his parent’s influence. He wants to recreate his identity, and redo whatever he believes went wrong…” 

Will paused, wondering how else to link in the boy’s absent-mindedness and delusions. He hoped he wasn’t reading too much into the boy. He worried that the hallucinations were figments of his own damaged mind and not him channelling the boy’s mental issues.

“He must have a disorder or disability of some kind…”

“So there’s something wrong with him?” Jack asked.

“He did kill three people,” Zeller pointed out.

“It could possibly be schizophrenia,” he told Jack, “He’s probably seeing a therapist, which would mean he’d have to be pretty local and he wouldn’t stay at home often, not if he can help it so he’s been seen out…and often. We know he has basic knowledge of biology, not basic enough that it’s just come out of a book but he’s not any more advanced than a highschool student. If he has a bad relationship with his father its fair enough to think that the therapy he’s getting, if he’s getting any is through the school, and that the boy gets to and from school by other means than his father’s car.”

Jack nodded, “Okay, okay, this is good,” then he turned to everyone, “Okay, I want local schools, look for subjects, teachers, students. Ring people, find out who this kid is!”

Will sat down, and rubbed his aching forehead. The building was busy with activity. Several officers came to Jack to ask questions or to hand over files. He watched the people and animals move about him and felt like used. He had done what was needed of him and now he was merely a useless spectator. 

It wasn’t till half an hour later that they had something promising. A young female officer quickly walked up to Jack, her ear still pressed to a phone. 

“There’s three schools local to here. All three offer biology in high school. I’ve talked with them about giving us names of the students seeing a psychologist but they’ll only give me names and photos.”

Jack turned to Will, “How useful will that be to you?”

Will shrugged, “I’m not sure,” he said, honestly.

Jack ordered the names and photos to be printed out and once that was done they were scattered on the table in front of Will and he was given his space. He picked up a photo and almost dropped it immediately. He tilted it slightly and watched as the human face dissolved into an animals, and back into a human’s. One by one he picked up the photos and looked at them: a peacock, a cat, a pig, a lion - he paused on that one. David Coleridge was the boy’s name. His hazel eyes were sunken deep, and the small smile that pulled at his lips was the kind of smile Will recognised all too keenly as an ‘I’m fine’ kind of smile.

Will handed the photo to Jack, “It’s him.”

Jack smirked and turned to the rest of the room, “It’s friday afternoon, people! I want the kid’s address in under 15 minutes! Will, you’re with me.”

Zeller gave Will a thumbs up, before Price and he walked out. A brown squirrel ran after Zeller, while a grey rabbit hopped after Price. He suddenly realised he’d be disappointed if the hallucinations stopped before he could catch a glimpse of Hannibal’s animal.

 

They found the boy’s address quickly. Jack led a small group of FBI agents, with Will at the rear, up the driveway. Will was comforted by the fact that most of the agent’s animals were dogs. Jack knocked on the front door and Will could faintly hear the shouting of a brutish man and the quick footsteps of a smaller person.

The front door opened slightly and Will caught a glimpse of hazel eyes before they widened and disappeared into the shadows. Jack yelled and the team went in. The boy bit and clawed but a few men managed to get him against the wall, where they handcuffed him and began to drag him out. A large man emerged from a room, his t-shirt stained and his face contorted in rage. The lion that emerged beside the man was also large, and it watched Will predatorily, though the man’s attention was focused on Jack.

“What the fuck’s going on?!”

Jack pulled out his badge and began to talk to the man or rather the bear began to threaten and the lion began to size him up. Will left the house, following the team of FBI agents who were still dragging a kicking and screaming David down the driveway. Halfway to one of the cars the boy stopped struggling and started staring into the distance. Will saw the lion he was looking at and sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing a hand over his face. At least now he knew he _was_ channelling the boy’s delusions.

When he looked up David was sitting in one of the police cars, grinning. Will went to the car and opened the door, sliding in beside him. David took no notice of him, and continued to stare out of the window. Finally he turned to Will.

“Are you the guy who caught me?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I’m mad?” David asked, “I thought I was mad too but I know better now.”

“I never thought you were mad,” he said truthfully.

The boy turned to him, and his hysterical grin faded for a moment, “Do you see them?” Will nodded and at then the hysterical grin was back, “I knew it,” David said, “Everyone has them but I didn’t. Now I do.”

The boy pointed out the window and Will looked. Beside the car was a young lion. The growing tufts of mane at its neck glinted in the sunlight. Its eyes seemed alert and…happy.

The boy nodded, “I knew I was a lion. I just knew it.”

At the sight of the childlike glee in the boy’s eyes Will felt a strong emotion he had come to associate with Abigail. For a moment Will wanted to open the car door and sneak the boy away and run for their lives. He wanted to take care of the growing lion until its mane was fully grown. Will saw a dark shape in the corner of his eye, standing beside the young lion but when he looked it was gone.

“I did what they told me too. They said they could help me to see but they didn’t understand completely…they thought I needed perfection but all I wanted was to see.”

Will froze, “Who said this?”

The boy turned to him, and grinned, “They admired my work and told me how to finish it.”

Will stared, “The copycat? Is that who you mean?”

The boy nodded.

“Who? Who was it? Did they give you a name?”

“Only…” the boy smiled and looked down at his folded hands, “Ripper.”

 

It suddenly came together in Will’s head. This confirmed it. Hannibal’s theory was correct. The Ripper was the copycat. Will decided not to tell Jack straight away. He couldn’t bear to talk about any more murderers. He knew it was a selfish decision but he needed rest. He needed to think. He needed to link it all together flawlessly before he handed anything to Jack.

When Will got home he opened his front door to let his dogs out and sat on the porch to watch them run useless circles. Their presence calmed his nerves and helped him forget about all the blood. He didn’t think he could ever live without them. Eventually his dogs calmed down and sat beside him or lay on the dying grass. He felt happy, surrounded by his seven dogs, his family. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw an eighth shape. It was dark and bigger than Winston but roughly the same shape. Something in Will stopped him from turning toward it. He could hear the quickening thump of his heart and felt like he was going to be sick as he saw the creature turn to look at him.

Will closed his eyes for a moment and gathered the courage to look but when he did there was nothing there. His dogs seemed agitated, though, whining and yipping. Will got to his feet shakily, and beckoned them into the house. Whatever it was he had seen, it hadn’t been there for long. Maybe, now that Herakles- the Nemean Lion- David Coleridge had been taken in, Will’s hallucinations were going to go back to their gruesome and surrealistic ways.


	10. Lifeboat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal was Will's anchor, his lifeboat, and in a world that was seeping through his fingers he wanted to, no, needed to cling to him.

_"The veil will be raised for him in proportion as he accomplishes his purification; but, in order to understand certain things, he would need faculties which he does not yet possess.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

Will dreamt that he was driving. It was night. There was only a sliver of moon in the sky so his car’s headlights were the only real light in the darkness. Still they were enough for him to see the dark shadow sprinting beside his car. It was too fast for anything alive and real. He felt sickening nausea every time he tried to look but whenever he did there wasn’t anything to be seen. It scared him to no end.

Will thought he was dreaming but when he ran a shaking hand over his face, and opened his eyes he found himself parked outside Hannibal’s house. His throat curled into a cold, tight knot and all he could think about was wanting Hannibal there with him. The desperation he felt for the doctor’s cool, foreign voice, terrified him but that didn’t stop him from grabbing his phone and calling.

“Will? Are you alright?”

Will laughed shakily at both the tone and the question. He suddenly doubted Hannibal’s care as anything but professional and he regretted calling him. He could simply turn around and drive home. It didn’t matter that much, surely?

“Where are you?”

Will was hesitant to reply.

“Will?”

The concern in Hannibal’s voice forced the whisper out of him, “Outside,” he said through chattering teeth, “I-I don’t know how-”

“Wait right there,” and Hannibal hung up.

Will was still shaking when the door of his car was opened and warm hands cradled his face. The doctor lay a hand across Will’s forehead to check his temperature and cupped the man’s face gently as he checked his pulse.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Hannibal told him, “We should get you inside. Can you walk?”

Will nodded and let Hannibal slowly coax him out of the car. 

Once they were inside Hannibal guided Will to a chair and was gone again. He came back with a blanket and water, which Will drank thankfully. That was when Will realised what he was wearing, which was good because he was starting to think clearly again, and bad because he was sitting in Hannibal’s house in little more than a t-shirt and underwear.

“I’m really sorry-”

Hannibal smiled, “Don’t worry about it Will,” he said, “You are always welcome in my home, even at the earliest hours of the morning.”

Will groaned, “It’s a Tuesday morning, isn’t it?” he asked, “You have appointments today.”

Hannibal nodded, “It takes only a moment to cancel appointments and most of my morning clients have flexible timetables.”

Will nodded, and tried with all his might not to apologise once more. Hannibal pulled out a chair and sat with him as Will’s breathing returned to normal and he stopped shaking.

“Do you know what caused this?”

Will shrugged, “We caught Herakles yesterday,” he said, “And I think that and the building stress didn’t exactly help.”

”How did you feel when you saw the boy?” Hannibal asked.

“I pitied him.”

“Because of his situation?”

“Yes,” Will frowned, “I wanted to take him with me and run away.”

Hannibal nodded, “You could empathise more strongly with the boy than you have any other criminal so far. It was only natural for you to hold an illusion of parental interest in him.”

“An illusion?”

“You tried very hard to get to know this boy, just as you tried with Garrett Jacob Hobbs. There is a possibility that you will be haunted by him just as Hobbs haunted you.”

Will frowned, “The boy just needs help.”

“Do you need help, Will?”

Will smiled, “I thought that was what you were doing, Dr Lecter.”

“Will,” Hannibal said, “Call me Hannibal, please.”

“You are my doctor, Hannibal.”

“I do try to help,” Hannibal said, “perhaps more than I do with other patients because my affection for you is not restricted to professionalism, and is…ever growing.”

As Will considered the degrees of meaning to that sentence he felt a strange tension in his chest, a feeling that was often present when Hannibal was there. The feeling had been building to a crescendo and Will could tell the peak was drawing near.

Hannibal leant forward and cupped Will’s cheek, “Are you anxious, Will?”

Will wanted to tell Hannibal that the proper response to an anxious patient was not to take a step forward but to take two steps back. Touching was also a definite breach of professionalism.

“You’re thinking too much, Will,” Hannibal said, correct as always, “Tell me what’s going on in your head.”

What was he thinking about? He was thinking about how that foreign voice, in its low, careful tone belonged to a man who had helped him through his mind’s mine field, and had guided him through labyrinths of criminal information. Will had a sudden, strange thought that the only reason he existed was because of Hannibal, because of that soothing voice, and those caring words. Hannibal was Will's anchor, his lifeboat, and in a world that was seeping through his fingers he wanted to, no, needed to cling to him.

“I,” Will’s voice cracked, and he sought out Hannibal’s eyes for reassurance. 

They were dark brown, and soft, questioning and curious and Will couldn’t look away. The tension in his chest was near unbearable. It was now a sharp, painful feeling, like affection, like admiration and desire and obsession and need. Hannibal had already given Will so much but all Will wanted to do was take more from him.

“I want to kiss you,” Will said eventually.

“Then why don’t you?” Hannibal dared.

Will leant forward hesitantly, pausing to look into Hannibal’s eyes. They were difficult to read, as they had always been. Will closed the gap and pressed his lips to Hannibal’s own. The hand that had cupped his cheek went to his neck, and another hand met his hip. The kiss was soft, simple and tentative. He breathed Hannibal in and felt giddy. Then Hannibal softly pulled away and pressed Will’s forehead against his own.

“You can stay the night, Will,” Hannibal offered.

“If-If that’s alright. I can sleep on the couch if there isn’t a spare-.”

Hannibal caressed Will’s neck, “Why not go to bed with me?”

“To sleep? In your bed?”

“Well we can sleep too if you’d like.”

Will nodded shakily. Hannibal stood and guided Will through the house, up the stairs and to his bedroom. Will didn’t know how or when but he suddenly knew without a doubt that he wanted Hannibal. He needed him to hold him and save him. He wanted to give every bit of himself to Hannibal, and if whatever this was wasn’t long term, heartbreak was the very least of Will’s problems. 

Will wasn’t confident as he removed his t-shirt and underwear but neither was he anxious. He trusted Hannibal so deeply that shyness didn’t seem to matter anymore. He slipped a hand under the dressing gown Hannibal wore and slid it off the man’s shoulders. It fell to the floor in as graceful a manner as everything, that Hannibal touched, did.

Hannibal wrapped a hand around Will’s waist and brought him forwards so that they would stand chest to naked chest. Will found that he fit perfectly into the crook of Hannibal’s neck, and into the creases and dips of his body. There was something so innocent about the naked embrace, so pure and perfect. 

He guided Will to his bed and lay him down, climbing upon him, and encircling his hands around Will’s wrists gently. Hannibal was being so soft and gentle and Will knew deep down that he was holding so much back. There was a nick in Hannibal’s mask and Will suddenly realised there _was_ a mask. He wondered what Hannibal hid beneath it. Hannibal wasn’t holding back just for him. He was holding back because he needed this to start off as tender and calm.

Will gently rolled Hannibal over so that they swapped places and Will pressed a kiss to the man’s lips, to his jaw, to his neck, he sucked and nipped at Hannibal’s shoulder, letting his hands wander over his hairy chest, and over his muscular arms. Will had never realised how fit Hannibal was under his neat suits, and dear god the mystery behind Hannibal just did things to Will.

They didn’t talk. They didn’t need to. Hannibal gestured to his side table and Will retrieved the lube and condoms. Hannibal caught Will’s eyes, and placed his hand over the items. The question that was being asked was obvious. Hannibal pulled the condom out of its packet and rolled it on himself as Will watched. He squeezed lube onto his hand and slicked his fingers before sitting up and pulling Will close.

Will groaned in anticipation as Hannibal’s hand snaked around and he slipped a finger into Will. He readied him with one, and then two fingers and Will was already shaking against Hannibal’s shoulder when he released him. Hannibal gripped Will’s hips as he slowly slid onto him. He whimpered as Hannibal began to move. Then he started to pump harder and faster and Will collapsed forward with a moan, his hands digging into the sheets in an attempt to hold himself up.

Hannibal’s hands found their way to his back and his fingernails dug into Will’s pale skin as he lost more and more control. The unintelligible noises that were coming out of Hannibal’s mouth were so dirty and breathless and Will just wanted to pull at Hannibal’s seams and watch him come undone at his hands. He moved his hips more forcibly on Hannibal and pressed his lips to the man’s neck, biting down just hard enough that it hurt. 

Hannibal cried out. Something changed and he pulled Will close, spinning them to swap places once more. He began pumping into Will with ferocity, hard enough that with each thrust Will was crying out in a mix of pain and ecstasy. It hurt but then Hannibal found Will’s prostate and the pleasure was so intense that Will couldn’t bear to tell Hannibal to stop or slow down. That’s assuming he could have formed a coherent sentence.

He looked up at Hannibal who was slick with sweat. His blond-grey hair, which was usually neatly gelled back, lay on his forehead, shading his eyes and making them look darker than before. They were now a deeper, richer brown that could only be described as a blood red. Hannibal looked so devastatingly wicked, and as Will watched the layers of his facade begin to peal away at the edges he caught a glimpse of something that had been carefully concealed: a strength of will, and loneliness, and a deep soul-wrenching sorrow.

They were so similar, and with that revelation Will cried out and came. Hannibal began to thrust erratically and came soon after. He pulled himself out, and collapsed at Will’s side. Will curled up against Hannibal’s chest and Hannibal wrapped an encompassing arm around him. Will did not see the small, smirk that played upon Hannibal’s lips as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I was away and then I got sick and yay for distractions...anyway please leave a comment. It's really appreciated. Thank you.


	11. Waking Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The ridiculousness of the situation suddenly hit him. If he wasn’t hallucinating then a fucking huge stag was standing in Hannibal’s bedroom. Will was pretty sure that this was not how the morning after was meant to go...He was expecting awkwardness. He was expecting embarrassment. At the very least he was expecting to wake up to an empty bed._
> 
>  
> 
> _But he’s freaking out too much to feel awkward, or embarrassed, and Hannibal’s there, right by his side._

  
_"Unperceived by you, they are incessantly beside you, observing and acting upon you; for spirits are one of the powers of Nature, and are the instruments employed by God for the accomplishment of His providential designs.”_

\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

Will was in the clearing with the stag. He felt comfortable there. He felt safe. The stag watched him, carefully. Will closed the small distance between them, reaching out to nuzzle the fur at the stag’s neck. It huffed in amusement and bent down to run its muzzle against Will’s fur, lovingly.

A branch snapped and Will stepped back abruptly, feeling all of a sudden uneasy. The stag looked up too, it’s ears tilted to listen for something. It looked toward the trees. Will could feel an uncomfortable tug towards the uninviting forest beyond. He knew that he had to follow it, that he had hurry to stop something.

He ran desperately. He knew he was going to be too late before he arrived at his unknown destination. Will reached another clearing and skidded to a halt. A hyena looked up from its threatening stance, lips curled back over teeth that paused around the neck of a doe. A peahen lay to the side, its neck already ripped open. The beast hadn’t even finished its meal. It hadn’t planned it this way.

Will growled, and bared his teeth. The Hyena bit down on the doe and Will leapt forward. The beast discarded its victim and tried to defend itself but Will was quicker. He bit down on the repulsive creature's shoulder, tasting its metallic blood. He bit down again and again. Even though body was limp in his mouth he would have continued biting, shredding, if distressed grunt of the doe hadn’t brought him back to himself. She was losing too much blood, and he couldn't do anything to stop it. He whined helplessly through the gore that stuck to his snout.

The sound of hooves met Will’s ears and he turned to meet the red eyes of the stag. He could only watch as the stag stepped forward and drove it's horns into the doe. 

Before his eyes the doe came back to life.

 

“Will?”

Will felt a hand stroking his face before he realised whose hand it was. He opened his eyes to see Hannibal looking down at him. Will sat up slowly. He remembered the night before. Hannibal and he had…they had…had they really? Will looked about and found himself in Hannibal’s bedroom in his bed and decided that they had indeed. The next time he looked up he froze. Where there had been thin air now stood the stag.

“Will, are you alright?” Hannibal asked, and then he turned to look at where Will was staring.

“It’s nothing,” Will said, shaking his head and begging the hallucination to disappear.

“It’s not nothing,” Hannibal said, “Can you see it?”

Will jerked away from him, “What?” he asked, “D-did I talk in my sleep?”

“No.”

“Then- then-,” he turned back to the corner of the room to see the stag step towards both of them, “You can see it, too?” Will asked, unsurely, “I’m not hallucinating?”

The ridiculousness of the situation suddenly hit him. If he wasn’t hallucinating then a fucking huge stag was standing in Hannibal’s bedroom. Will was pretty sure that this was not how the morning after was meant to go...He was expecting awkwardness. He was expecting embarrassment. At the very least he was expecting to wake up to an empty bed. 

But he’s freaking out too much to feel awkward, or embarrassed, and Hannibal’s there, right by his side.

Will shook his head, “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not, Will,” Hannibal assured, “You’re not hallucinating.”

“I must still be dreaming, then.”

But he remembered his dream. The stag, the doe, the hyena. It all seemed familiar. Will looked towards the stag, and as it stepped forward he raised a hand to the beast’s muzzle. It leant into the touch. Will felt shaky all of a sudden. An unwelcome tightness began to pull at his insides and his breathing became erratic.

“Will you need to calm down,” Hannibal told him.

The stag nuzzled Will’s hand affectionately as Hannibal curled a soothing hand through his hair.

“Will, can you look at me?”

“Which you?” 

The words were out of his mouth before he realised he’d accepted the situation. He looked up into the stag’s eyes and saw Hannibal’s.

"I knew you were beginning to see,” Hannibal said with a smile, “But I didn’t know how long it would take.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“I will help you understand.”

“What are they?”

“Spirits.”

Will laughed skeptically, “As in souls? So I wasn’t channeling the boy's delusions. I’ve actually been…enlightened?”

This was too weird. He had to be dreaming.

“In some ways, you were doing both,” Hannibal said, “Everyone has a spirit, but only some can see them. Our Herakles believed himself to be spiritless until he was caught. You channelled the boy’s grief, and as I can only assume, stretched some muscle in your brain that allows us to see such divine spectres.”

“But then where’s mine?”

“I will help you see,” Hannibal said.

“I still can’t quite believe this,” Will said shakily, “I feel like I’m going to wake up any second.”

“You will get used to it.”

“In my dream,” Will said, “I relived that afternoon at Abigail’s house but we were animals.”

“Perhaps it was your minds attempt to ease you into the situation,” Hannibal said.

 

Hannibal canceled his appointments and began to make a hot breakfast for Will and himself. Will was preoccupied with watching the stag and Hannibal move about each other, never bumping into each other and always remaining two separate entities. It was like they could communicate without talking, and Will supposed that was sort of what they were doing. 

He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t seen the connection before. The stag was so very Hannibal that Will was almost ashamed he hadn’t seen it. As Hannibal cooked he talked. Will assumed he was trying to comfort him by filling the silence with a subject he didn’t know he needed to know.

“In celtic animism all aspects of the natural world were believed to contain spirits. They worshipped them and believed they could communicate with them. From studying these beliefs and from my own experience I know that they are not so much a separate entity but more our true self. They can also evolve and change depending on our experiences.” 

Will nodded as he listened. He tried to keep an open mind to the whole situation but frankly he was still unsure whether or not he was hallucinating.

“So your spirit wasn’t originally a stag?” Will asked.

Hannibal nodded but revealed no more. Will thought about how little Hannibal talked about his past and realised it must all be too difficult a subject to discuss.

“In native american beliefs animal spirits were believed to be connected to people,” Hannibal continued, “and could walk beside them through life, teaching and guiding them. Spirits give away one’s true nature.”

“So by watching other people’s spirits I can see their true feelings and intentions?” Will asked.

Hannibal nodded, “There _are_ those who have learned to control their spirits but most do not know how to or cannot comprehend the existence of spirits at all.”

When Hannibal finished making breakfast they ate in silence. Hannibal’s stag remained close to Will as if trying to comfort him. It worked. Will realised that the stag had been there in both his dreams and in real life since he had met Hannibal, always protecting and guiding him.

“Thank you.”

Hannibal looked up, “What for?”

“For staying with me,” Will said, “For being there even when you…you aren’t there,” he finished lamely.

Hannibal seemed to understand, though, because he smiled, “I care about your wellbeing,” he said, not for the first time.

Without anything else to say, Will changed the subject, “Will it take much for me to see my own spirit?” he asked.

“That completely depends on whether or not you are ready to see,” Hannibal told him.

“I’m still not completely sure about all this,” Will answered honestly, “But if it will help me, then I’m ready.”

“Very well,” he said, “Shall we rebook your afternoon appointment to after breakfast?” Hannibal asked with a smile.

Will laughed.

 

Will didn’t know what he was expecting. He had perhaps thought there might be some incense or religious items or even herbal tea or something - he wouldn’t put it past Hannibal - but instead Hannibal guided him to a chair and rearranged his own so that it was similar to the arrangement of his office furniture. It wasn’t anything like their appointments, though. Hannibal was still in his dressing gown, his hair beautifully disheveled, and Will was in pyjamas.

“Tell me, Will,” Hannibal began, “Have you noticed anything that might suggest the presence of your own spirit?”

“I’m not sure,” he answered honestly, and then saw something in his peripheral vision, “I have noticed a dark shape in the corner of my eye.”

“How long has this occurred?”

“A few days.”

“Is it here now?”

“Yes,” he frowned, “I-I don’t want to look. It makes me feel…unwell.”

Hannibal nodded, “That is completely normal. You will feel better soon.”

“Are you saying that what I’m seeing is my spirit?”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, “Your mind is struggling to come to terms with the truth of what it sees. I will help you see…If you want me to?” 

Will nodded.

“Describe the dark shape to me?”

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. Without directly looking at the shadow he began to study its shape. His headache grew as he looked.

“I think it’s about 80 centimetres in height,” he said, “and- and just over a meter in length.”

“How does it sit in its environment?” Hannibal asked, “Is it a biped or quadruped. Mammal or reptile?”

“I-I don’t know,” he tried to look at it but the more he tried the more it hurt.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.” 

He dug his nails into the arms of his chair as he tried to focus. He felt as if his head was splitting in half. After a moment he couldn’t take it anymore and looked away. He bent over, clutching his head and trying not to be sick on Hannibal’s carpet.

“Perhaps we should try an alternative method.”

“I’m all ears,” Will said, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

“Don’t try to look at it,” Hannibal said, “Instead, keep your eyes on me. Can you do that?”

Will looked up, and nodded. He settled back into his chair and stared at Hannibal. He didn’t know whether to feel self-conscious or relieved to finally have an excuse to stare at the man. Hannibal was beautiful. He had always known Hannibal was aesthetically pleasing, with his high cheekbones and carefully presented appearance. He was certainly not perfect but his actions and words and physical appearance were all beautiful. He was a cultured adonis trapped in a rude world, and Will felt incredibly inadequate and worthless in his presence.

“Will, you’re thinking too much,” Hannibal said, “Relax.”

After a moment, when Hannibal deemed it was time, the doctor stood and walked over to Will’s side. Will followed the man’s movement until Hannibal bent down and placed his hand on the shadow beside Will. He stiffened at the contact, feeling the ghost of a hand at his neck.

“Will, focus on me.”

He did. He stared at Hannibal, and from the corner of his eye the image of the dark shape wavered and rippled. He saw Hannibal’s hand curl into fur and felt fingers in his hair. He saw the creature relax, and lay down, placing its snout on its two front paws. 

“Will, what do you see?”

“It’s clearing up,” he said, “It has fur, four legs…”

“Look,” Hannibal said.

Will breathed out shakily and looked at the shadow. The image remained distorted for a moment but when it cleared Will felt rather underwhelmed. He let out a soft laugh. The creature was a dog. Its dark fur was tangled and standing on end in places, as disheveled as he felt. It had dark fur, the colour of his hair, though dusted with silver at its chest. The dog leant into Hannibal’s touch.

“I guess my choice of companions should have been a clear give away,” Will said.

“Perhaps,” Hannibal smiled, “but, in retrospect many things can appear to be obvious when they are not.”

“It won’t disappear if I look away, will it?”

“No, it is here to stay,” Hannibal said. 

“So…a dog…what does that say about me?”

“Dog spirits make good companions,” Hannibal responded, “The celtic people saw them as good hunters and healers.”

Will stared at his dog. He didn’t know about the healing but he had proved to be quite sufficient in catching killers. His spirit watched him with a curious mistrust that made Will want to laugh. The old saying ‘How can you trust other people if you can't trust yourself?’ came to mind. He didn’t trust himself but he did trust Hannibal. What did that say about him?


	12. Zoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Will decided to go to work, hoping that it might take his mind off the strangeness of his day. It didn’t. If anything it emphasised it. He felt as if he were giving a lecture to a zoo._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Every time Will manages to get used to some aspect of his strange life, everything is turned upside down again. This is certainly no exception.

__

“The soul is not shut up in the body like a bird in a cage. It radiates in all directions, and manifests itself outside the body as a light radiates from a glass globe.”  
\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec.

Will decided to go to work, hoping that it might take his mind off the strangeness of his day. It didn’t. If anything it emphasised it. He felt as if he were giving a lecture to a zoo. Every student in the room had some kind of animal with them. Will began to realise that dogs, cats and birds were the most common spirit animals but that anyone could have anything from monkeys to turtles.

He finished his talk just as Alana walked into the lecture hall. He was relieved and surprised to see her, and then he saw Abigail and he smiled. He found himself unsurprised by the black mare and small doe that followed behind them. Will hesitantly held out his arms to Abigail, who smiled and accepted his hug. It was an awkward thing, all tense and tight, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Hey,” Alana greeted, “I was just taking Abigail for a wander about. She’s been getting restless and I thought some fresh air would do her some good.”

Abigail hesitantly took Will’s clammy hand. Alana saw the gesture and tried to hide her smile as they walked out of the building. Abigail talked quickly and excitedly about a movie Alana was going to take her to. Abigail said all this while staring at the ground. At first he thought it was shyness but she had a strong clasp of his hand so he looked again and realised she was talking to his spirit. Alana dropped back a bit to subtly give the two room to talk, but it wasn’t subtle enough that Will didn’t notice. 

As soon as she was out of ear shot, he spoke up, “Abigail,” he said, “Do you believe in spirits?”

Abigail laughed, “You mean ghosts?” she asked.

“No,” Will said.

She looked up at him with a curious glint in her eyes and Will subtly gestured to his left where the doe walked beside him. To anyone else it might have looked like he was commenting on the scenery - not that the campus was anything scenic, but to Abigail Will was pointing at her deer.

“You couldn’t see before,” she said.

Will shook his head, “Dr Lecter helped me see.”

Abigail grinned, “I thought you looked happier,” she said.

“Well I guess now that I know more about everything I’m more…comfortable?” he didn’t mean it to end up as a question.

Abigail nodded, “That’s good,” she said, “I was the same. I only found out about them about a month ago.”

She let go of his hand to skip forwards and play a quick hopscotch on the cracked and uneven pavement. Will had never seen her act so normal and carefree; he realised that the revelation of her deer’s existence had done her more good than the medicine and psychologist sessions had at the hospital. Abigail’s deer followed behind her, jumping over each crack parallel to her movement. When Abigail and her doe reached the end they turned and Abigail held her hands up as if she had just completed some amazing gymnastic routine.

“How did you do that?” Will asked, “It did exactly what you did.”

Abigail nodded, “It takes time,” she said, “But once you know they exist you start to feel them like- like…” she frowned, “Hannibal called it a phantom limb.”

Will tilted his head in interest and looked down at his dog. The animal looked up at him, and it was unnerving to see his own eyes looking back. He wondered if he could ever be comfortable looking to himself for reassurance.

“Treat them like you would an imaginary friend,” Abigail said with a shrug, “I talk to her as if she were.”

Will nodded and their conversation turned to other things like his lectures, and Abigail’s need for more clothes. Eventually Abigail spun to face him and smirked.

“What’s the time mister wolf?”

Will checked his watch, “About 4.”

“We should be going,” Alana said, “It was good to see you.”

“You too.”

“Say hi to Hannibal for me,” Abigail called, giving Will a wink.

 

After Alana and Abigail had left Will went to see Jack. It was time to discuss the Ripper and his possible connection to David Coleridge. While he had no evidence as such, Coleridge had admitted the contact. If Will could see the boy, if he could talk to him, there was a possibility he could get some small facial or verbal characteristic. All he needed was the key to the cypher and, hopefully, the Ripper would be revealed to him. 

When Will knocked on the door of Jack’s office the man was sitting at his desk going through files. Jack looked up and when he saw Will he smiled and asked him to come in.

“I need to discuss the Herakles murders with you,” Will said.

Jack raised an eyebrow, “We’ve caught the killer. Haven’t we?”

Will nodded, “Without a doubt,” he said, “But there’s something the boy said to me. He said his copycat contacted him. He said the person went by the name of Ripper.”

Jack sighed, “Don’t you think that’s just a little farfetched, Will?”

Will nodded, “It is a bit odd that the Ripper would contact him,” he said, “But I’ve been discussing the theory with Hannibal for a while and it seems likely. And David Coleridge admitted it.”

“He’s a delusional boy,” Jack said, “We can’t be sure of anything that comes out of his mouth. He’s been talking about seeing spirits. He said you could see them too.”

Will frowned, “But-”

“Alana says he doesn’t show any of the signs of a schizophrenic - other than outright admitting he sees stuff that isn’t there,” Jack shrugged, “He’s not eligible for a juvenile detention centre anymore, pleading insanity is his best bet.”

“How would lying about the Chesapeake Ripper get him anywhere?” Will asked.

“He’s young,” Jack answered, “He’d say anything that he thought might get him a better sentence.”

Will shook his head, “You’re wrong. This boy is smart. Yes, if he thought there was any chance in hell that lying about the Ripper might help then he’d lie,” Will said, “But he knows it won’t. The only reason he would tell us is…”

Will’s eyes widened as he realised something. A tiny minuscule puzzle piece which bridged the gap between each ‘what if’ had found its place.

“Is…?”

“Is if the Ripper told him to,” Will said.

“Will,” Jack sighed again, “Why would the Ripper do that?”

He shrugged, “I don’t know! But I-”

“Will, I think that’s enough.”

“But-”

“Will,” Jack said more forcefully, “I trust your judgement, I do, but the boy is unreliable, and you’re exhausted. Even Dr Lecter has admitted that this case has put more strain on you than usual. Go home, try-” 

There was a knock on the door and both men looked up to see an FBI agent standing there with a report.

“Excuse me, Will,” Jack said, and motioned for the man to enter.

He gave the document to Jack who scanned it quickly. Will watched Jack’s expression go from bored to unbelieving to frustrated in the blink of an eye.

Then Jack looked up at Will with an apologetic expression, “A man just came home to find a murder scene in his garage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I forgot about this...I'm competing in GISHWHES this year and...I'm so busy. I haven't had a chance to edit this but I thought you'd want to read it soon rather than wait for me to go through it. It should be fine. I hope you like it. Please leave a comment!!


	13. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another murder, and everything... _everything_ in the end points to the Chesapeake Ripper. All Will has to do is figure out why the Ripper has spun such a large web, and what exactly he hopes to catch.

_"Spirits are the work of God...We are His children in this sense, because we are His work.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

When Will and Jack arrived the police were all over the front yard of the poor man who’d found the bodies. The fact Will could imagine waking up and finding a murder scene in his own house, made him all the more sympathetic towards the man.

Jack ordered everyone out of the garage and left Will to do his job. The scene was unusual, to say the least. Two simple wooden chairs, of different makes, one larger than the other, sat upon a pool of blood as if using it like a red carpet. Sitting in front of the two chairs were five decapitated heads. At first Will watched his dog wander about the scene, smelling and nudging things. For a moment he worried about footprints before he smiled to himself and shook his head. He was surprised to find that watching the animal was actually calming.

Will closed his eyes and the pendulum swung. One…two…three…four.

_He is standing in the garage. He has two freezers with him._

_“I have been planning this for a long time,” he says as he places the chairs into place._

_“These chairs are symbolic of my position, and of the position of another.”_

_He opens the freezers and takes out each of the heads, “I place each of you on the floor in a predetermined order.”_

_“You had the ability to be worthy opponents or allies but none of you lived up to your potential.”_

_He went back to the freezers and took out sealed packets of blood._

_“You failed to rise and meet me so now your blood will serve as nothing more than the foundations I walk on.”_

Will came back to himself and clenched his jaw. He turned to his dog and saw it watching him. The scene reminded Will of a killer. Someone he’d been looking for, for a long time. When he had calmed down he retrieved Jack.

“Whose heads are those?”

Jack opened up the file he’d brought and handed it to him, “They belong to three known murderers and two men we’ve never seen before,” Jack answered, “I’m going to take a hunch and say that the last two men are also murderers.”

Will nodded.

“We thought the first three had disappeared off the radar,” he explained, “They all disappeared over a period of twenty years so we made no connection.”

“He’s been collecting murderers.”

“Who?”

“The Chesapeake Ripper,” Will said.

Jack looked at him unsurely.

“These men disappointed him somehow so he collected them up and planned this.”

“Are you sure you’re not seeing the Chesapeake Ripper where he isn’t, Will?” Jack asked, “First David Coleridge and now this. It’s nothing like any of the Chesapeake Ripper murders.”

“That’s because it isn’t a typical murder,” Will said, “It’s him, though. It fits with how he’s been acting lately. Everything he does is planned. He likes to show off, we know that. But this is less of an ego-boost and more of…well I’d almost say it was an invitation. But it’s a mockery of those murderers, and of any murderer who did not live up to his standards.”

“But why would he dump this kind of scene in some random person’s garage?”

“He wouldn’t,” Will said with realisation, “Shit, Jack. He’s not random. This is all planned. He knows this person. By name or by reputation.”

“Are you telling me this man could be another murderer?”

Will nodded, “You should probably search his house.”

“I’d need a warrant for that.”

“The house is a crime scene,” Will answered, “You could simply say you didn’t know how far the crime scene went.”

Jack smiled and had a discreet conversation with his forensics team before they went inside via the garage. Will decided to have a conversation with the houses’ owner while he waited. The man’s cat looked nervous as he approached.

“I was just asking this officer what kind of FBI agent you were,” the man said, “They don’t seem to know much about you.”

“I’m not really FBI,” Will explained, “I’m more of a consultant profiler.”

“Oh?” he asked before shrugging and offering a hand, “Leonard Timulty.”

Will shook it. On closer observation Will realised that Timulty’s spirit was not just a cat but a wild cat. The cat seemed frightened of his dog as it observed it. Will kept up small talk with Timulty, and watched as his cat grew more and more anxious.

It wasn’t long before Jack returned. He walked straight over to Will and Mr Timulty, looking confident and pleased.

“You’re under arrest for suspected murder, Leonard Timulty.”

The man’s sad smile implied he expected such an outcome. Will couldn’t help wondering why he had risked getting caught by the FBI.

“Why didn’t you just clean this up instead of ringing us?” Will asked him.

“You do know who did this, right?” the man laughed without humour, “I’d rather risk getting taken in by you than risk getting on his bad side.”

“So this is the Chesapeake Ripper?” Jack asked, “And you know who he is?”

“I’m a dead man if I tell you.”

“We can guarantee your protection,” Jack answered.

Timulty laughed, “No you can’t. There’s no where to hide from him.”

Jack ordered the man to be taken away.

“That invitation lead,” Jack said, “Could that have been for Leonard Timulty?”

Will shook his head, “Not for him, no…”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know,” Will grimaced, “I’m not even sure if it was an invitation. If it was…then how will anybody else but the FBI see it?”

“So you think he expected Freddie to be here?”

Will shrugged.

“Will,” Jack went to place a hand on his shoulder before he remembered how Will reacted to people touching him, “That’s a pretty big leap. The Ripper wouldn’t leave something like that to chance. It’s simpler than you think. I trust your empathy, Will. But how you interpret that is sometimes questionable.” 

Will shook is head, “Jack-”

“It has to be Timulty. Don’t just throw our best lead out the window.”

“There’s no connection between Timulty and the Ripper other than them knowing one another.”

“How can you dismiss that? Did Timulty tell you that?” 

“No but-”

“But what, Will?” Jack asked, “You’re not making much s-”

“The Ripper wouldn’t choose Timulty!” Will exclaimed angrily.

People had begun to stare. Jack sighed, and wrapped a hand around Will - this time not caring a damn about the ‘no-touching’ rule they’d made - and pulled him away to the side.

“I think you should try to get some sleep, Will,” he said, “I’ll keep in mind what you said but unless we have a clear lead I can’t do anything.”

Will bit his tongue. Then nodded and left.

When he arrived home there was a letter waiting for him. He grinned at his elegantly-written name, before clambering over his excited dogs to get to his phone. Let out a shaky breath before he rang him.

“Hello Will.”

“Hannibal.”

“Did you get my invitation?”

“Yes,” he said with a grin, “I’d love to join you for dinner.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then. Sleep well, Will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! I'd love to know what you think, especially considering that the story is drawing closer to its conclusion.


	14. Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will arrives at Hannibal’s house for a relaxing and romantic dinner. Of course it doesn't go as planned. Nothing ever goes the way Will wants it to.

_"Poor human beings who debase yourselves below the brutes! do you not know how to distinguish yourselves from them? Recognise the superiority of man by his possessing the notion of the existence of God.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

Will pulled up outside of Hannibal’s house with a grin on his face. He decided then and there that this was something he could never throw away. Hannibal was the only thing in his life - except for his dogs - that meant anything to him. Hannibal was the only one who understood him. He listened to him. He never judged him. He never used or abused Will’s apparent ‘gift’.

When Hannibal opened the door he was smiling, “You’re early,” he said, as Will walked inside, “But so am I. I just finished cooking.”

He then led him into the dining room where he handed him a glass of wine. Will didn’t really know where they stood; if this thing between them was going to continue. If they were just sleeping with one another or…if they were dating…Will saw his dog bristle at the thought and he sighed, silently chastising it, and in turn, himself. He knew it was natural to feel anxiety at such a prospect but he couldn’t help thinking that he shouldn’t feel any fear from Hannibal. Hannibal had always had his best interests at heart. Will tried with all his might to force his dog to calm itself but it seemed to act of its own accord, becoming ridged and restless.

Hannibal smiled at it, nonetheless, “I see you’re having trouble relaxing, Will.”

“Unfortunately.”

Hannibal stepped toward him and cupped his face. Will’s cheeks warmed and he wondered what to do. Then Hannibal leant forward and kissed him. It was a gentle, reassuring kiss that promised to be one of many and Will relaxed into it. But it was over far too soon and then he was staring into Hannibal’s dark brown eyes. He realised how strange he must look and turned away. He stepped back and wondered what to say to break the awkward silence. As always Hannibal was there to help.

“Think of your animal as an extension of yourself,” he said, as if they had not just shared a moment.

“A phantom limb?”

“Yes,” Hannibal laughed, “Have you been talking with Abigail?”

Will nodded, “She said you had helped her see her own spirit.”

Hannibal nodded, “After her father’s death she began to see them. I simply explained the situation to her and helped her perceive her own.” Then Hannibal smiled, “Please, sit, I will bring our dinner.”

Will did as he was told and waited. He could faintly smell the food from the kitchen and as always it smelled wonderful. When Hannibal returned he brought with him a colourful dish. Hannibal placed it in front of Will.

“Lamb with a Greek brown rice salad.”

Hannibal usually served meals with wonderfully complicated foreign names. For once the name of the dish did not do it justice. Feta had been melted into the lamb’s spicy sauce, apposing and accentuating the meat’s flavour. The meat melted in Will’s mouth, while the salad retained potency enough to compliment its aftertaste. While the lamb’s spices bit, the minty salad soothed. It was the perfect opposition of tastes which made the dish work. Will thought, not for the first time, that he could get used to this.

Hannibal raised his glass, “To clearing perceptions.”

Will smiled and clinked his glass against Hannibal’s, “Are we celebrating?”

“Do you not think we should?”

Will was about to say that nothing had really changed but then he realised that was a lie. He hadn’t had a headache since he could see his spirit, and he hadn’t been hallucinating…or rather, he didn’t think he had - he still wasn’t discounting the idea that this was all an hallucination. Then there was Hannibal, and whatever the hell was going on between them. Whatever it was, it felt good. So yes, Will thought, perhaps they should celebrate.

He nodded.

Hannibal smiled and they ate in silence for a while.

Then Hannibal looked up, “I heard there was a Ripper case today.”

Will nodded, “The Ripper planted a crime scene at a man’s house. Leonard Timulty,” he said.

Hannibal looked interested.

“Timulty and each of the dead men were murderers that the FBI hadn’t caught.”

“Is the Ripper playing vigilante?” Hannibal asked with a smirk.

“No, he killed these men because they disappointed him,” Will answered, “I think they were once candidates for the position as the Ripper’s equal.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow, “So they fit your theory then?”

“Yes,” Will nodded, “Except Timulty. He’s not important to this case…but…Jack won’t listen. He thinks Timulty will give us a lead on the Chesapeake Ripper but the guy’s spirit was terrified and resistant. He won’t talk.”

“Jack won’t forget the lead until he has hard evidence or the lead goes cold,” Hannibal said, “Not everyone is like you and I.”

Will nodded, “I know.”

“I’m pleased you took the opportunity to use your new skills, though,” Hannibal said, “It shows that you are adapting quickly to your new found abilities.”

Will shrugged, “I’m doing the best I can.”

“You’re doing remarkably well, considering,” Hannibal responded, “Other’s don’t fair as well. David Coleridge is one such example.”

“That reminds me,” Will said, “Coleridge told me he had been contacted by the Ripper. He’s the copycat.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal seemed surprised, “Why do you think he told the boy who he was?”

“I don’t know,” Will said, “But I feel closer to him.”

“And does that scare you?”

“It terrifies me,” Will said truthfully, “As I get closer to understanding him I feel like he’s getting closer to knowing me.”

 

After dinner they retired to Hannibal’s lounge room. Will wandered, staring at the countless books in Hannibal’s shelf. Most weren’t even in English. He took a book from his shelf, flipped to a page marked by a bookmark and began to read: _The classification of spirits is based upon the degree of their advancement, upon the qualities which they have acquired, and upon the imperfections from which they have still to free themselves._

Will remembered asking Hannibal if his spirit had changed. Hannibal hadn’t only admitted that it had. Will wondered what it could have been. Why it had changed? When it had changed? How Hannibal had purged those imperfections and freed himself? There were no steps given in the book, no guidelines. The rules were there to be interpreted.

“What do you think of that, Will?” Hannibal asked.

Will realised Hannibal had been reading over his shoulder. He frowned, uncertain what he meant by the question. Hannibal’s expression gave nothing away. Will subtly turned to the stag, which had become his pseudo-guardian angel. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, reassurance or truth.

 _“Spirits give away one’s true nature. There are those who have learned to control their spirits,”_ Hannibal had told him.

When Will searched Hannibal’s face he saw nothing. Hannibal’s expressions were so carefully controlled, his words so carefully chosen, his appearance so carefully maintained. His spirit was much the same. Hannibal was the epitome of control.

“I’m not sure,” Will responded, truthfully.

“Do you believe yourself to be perfect?” Hannibal asked.

Will laughed, “God no.”

Hannibal gently took the book from Will and placed it back on the shelf, “It is in humanities nature to continue to better ourselves. Perfection is sought by everyone, whether it be intentionally or by accident.”

Will considered this as he continued around Hannibal’s lounge room. There were a pile of drawings in the corner, which Will navigated himself to, as subtly as he could manage. He had always loved Hannibal’s drawings. The man had so much talent in so many things. It made Will jealous, if he were to be honest. But then, Hannibal would probably tutor him if he asked.

The first few drawings were of buildings he didn’t recognise. The next was of Abigail. Will paused on it and smiled. She looked calm in the drawing, and slightly surprised, as if she had turned and Hannibal had caught her on film.

“I’m afraid that one is not yet finished,” Hannibal said from behind him.

“It looks beautiful,” he said.

“I only draw things I find beautiful.”

Will moved on to the next few drawings. There were more buildings, and then the very last drawing…Will paused again, and his eyes widened. It was a sketch of himself. In the drawing he was sitting on his porch, with a hand resting on the neck of one of his dogs.

“Y-you drew me?”

“Of course,” Hannibal said from behind Will.

“But-but…”

“I hope it does not offend you,” Hannibal said, stepping closer, “Perhaps I should have asked beforehand.”

“N-no it’s fine,” Will said, “I’m just a little surprised.” 

“I would very much like to sketch you in person,” his breath tickling the back of Will’s neck.

“I-If you would like,” Will spluttered.

Hannibal leant forwards and kissed Will’s neck, and Will had to bite his tongue to stop himself from uttering a sound. He stared down at the drawing as Hannibal’s lips moved down his neck, and along his shoulder. He looked happy in the drawing, staring off into the distance like he saw something…or someone he liked there. His dog- Will frowned, his spirit…but there was something off about it. Abigail had said that it would take time- Abigail had said…What else had she said to him? _“What’s the time mister wolf?”_ Wolf. The drawing, his spirit, it wasn’t a dog. But a wolf!

Hannibal’s lips stilled, and he slowly turned Will to face him, “Are you alright?”

Will nodded, unsure of what this revelation meant. He looked up into Hannibal’s brown eyes, looking for reassurance, calm…His head span, and he nearly collapsed. He tried to catch his breath.

“Are you about to have an attack? Breathe, Will,” Hannibal placed a hand on his back, “I’m sorry that I surprised you.”

He couldn’t understand why he was freaking out. He had made a mistake. Hannibal had made a mistake. Dogs and wolves looked similar, Will told himself. His wolf stared up at him from the carpet, eyes sharp and purposeful, calm…Why hadn’t he noticed? It now seemed so obvious.

“A wolf.”

“Pardon?”

“My spirit,” he breathed out, “A wolf not a dog.”

“Another stepping stone,” Hannibal said with a small smile, “You’re making remarkable progress, Will. This is very encouraging indeed.”

“You knew?” he asked, angrily.

“Calm yourself, Will.”

“What more is there that I don’t know?” he demanded, “You lied to me.”

“I did not lie to you, Will,” Hannibal said.

Will tried to summon up an example to prove him wrong but there weren’t any. He suddenly realised that Hannibal had never said his spirit was a dog. He had only assumed.

“I did not know how you would react to this news without first coming to terms with your spirit.”

“Why?” Will asked, “Because I’m a wolf in sheep's clothing? Or a dog’s, more-like. A predator? I dream of killing people. Everyone’s scared of me. It makes sense.”

“Will, I’m afraid you’re becoming hysterical,” Hannibal said, gripping him by the shoulders, “I told you only what you were ready to know. You, like everyone else, have the ability to change. That is what the book meant. You can advance, and become…by freeing yourself of your imperfections.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the beginning of the end. I will be posting the second-last chapter this friday because they take place on the same night. I hope you've liked the story so far and are excited for its conclusion. Please leave a comment!


	15. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You look, Will, but you don’t see.”_  
>  “Oh I see pretty damn well,” Will spat, “I see the spirits. I see my wolf. But more importantly, I now see you, Dr Lecter.”

_"When his mind shall no longer be obscured by matter, and when, by his perfection,  
he shall have brought himself nearer to God, he will see and comprehend Him.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

Will stared up at Hannibal, and Hannibal stared back. His eyes, like they always had, instilled a hypnotic calmness in Will that hushed his heart to a slow, steady beat. He was no longer angry. Confused, yes. But Hannibal was usually right. Perhaps it _was_ better that he had discovered he was a wolf now, rather than earlier - when he was more likely to freak out. But after the freaking out he would have come to terms with it.

Hannibal still hadn’t moved from his position in front of Will as if, were he to move, Will would crumble. Will had once heard someone say that the doctor looked like he was more chiseled marble than flesh and bone. Will might have listened to them a few months ago but now? What Will was beginning to understand was that Hannibal had as many facets as there were colours in a sunset. 

Some part of Will was angry at himself for psychoanalysing the doctor. Everyone had a right to hide behind a facade. But Hannibal had lied to him - or well…kept the truth from him, and was that truly for his own good? Will was already unstable. Surely knowing that he was a wolf and not a dog wouldn’t have changed much. Hannibal told him many things, of literature, of religion, of art and medicine. But he never told Will anything of himself, nothing of consequence at least.

Some part of Will was angry for psychoanalysing the doctor but another part told him to look again, to search for something that wasn’t there. It told him there was something wrong with this image, that the careful expressions and actions and words told more truth about Hannibal than Will could ever hope to know. 

Will had seen something that night they had experienced together. He had seen something he had never associated with Hannibal. The doctor’s exterior was a mould, carefully taken from the conventional expectations of society. It was so clean and perfect that Will couldn’t believe he’d ever seen a crack in it. The facade was a self-sculpted, delicate, artwork. An artwork of Hannibal’s own design.

The thought brought a memory to the front of Will’s mind. At first he was confused. He remembered Hannibal cleaning his glasses and placing them back on his nose, like a king crowning a prince.

_“He sees himself as a king upon a throne.”_

Will was still staring into Hannibal’s eyes. All he saw there was delicate purpose and softly-muted caring. Hannibal cared for him. Hannibal wanted company, companionship. He was lonely.

But he was not the only one who was.

_“He knows he won’t get caught. He’d rather die than hand over his legacy to someone else. This is more about…loneliness. He’s lonely.”_

Will couldn’t move, and even if he could he probably shouldn’t. Both of his arms were locked into Hannibal’s grip. Not by force but by connection. Things Will had wanted to make sense of for a long time were slowly coming together. Two images of two different people were merging, two melodies that alone were extraordinary, one careful, delicate and enticing, the other daring and loud and passionate. They were becoming a symphony, one that had mastered terrible beauty and awesome power. Will could hear the music in his head. Almost a waltz, he thought.

Why hadn’t he seen it before?

Of course it was Hannibal’s voice - albeit, the one inside his head, who supplied the answer: _“In retrospect many things can appear to be obvious when they are not.”_

But it didn’t end there. Memory after memory bombarded Will’s mind, forcing themselves together, to form a horrible image. He heard Hannibal’s voice in his head, and his foreign accent, in its low, careful tone was no longer comforting.

__  
“The Chesapeake Ripper is teetering on the edge of your perception. If he falls, will you be there to catch him, Will?”  


Hannibal, was…but he couldn’t be…Now that Will had thought it he couldn’t unthink it. He had wanted clarity, and now that everything was clear as crystal. It would be stupid to wish he’d never wanted to know. It would be stupid to deny the facts.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Will.”

Hannibal's hands left his side, and he gestured towards one of the chairs but Will was stuck fast to the spot. He pulled memorised file after memorised file to the front of his mind, and found connections everywhere. Hannibal had orchestrated it all. He had supplied misleading theories to the FBI, or made convenient statements that had led Will to make theories he wouldn’t normally have made. That night Will had thought he had brought Abel Gideon to Hannibal’s house…He probably had. Hannibal had lied to him. He had manipulated him. It was not the only time too, and now Will was suddenly, irrevocably, certain that the person who had called Garret Jacob Hobbs all those months ago was the man standing in front of him that very moment. Everything…everything came back to Hannibal.

“It’s you,” Will said shakily.

Hannibal turned to him, “Pardon?”

“Did you know I would work it out? Is that what this was?” Will gestured between them, “To mock me?”

“Will, I’m afraid I really do not know what you’re talking about.”

Will shook his head, “No,” he said, “Not again. I have a riddle for you, Dr. Lecter. There’s a lonely psychiatrist, once-physician; a food enthusiast and an _amazing_ cook,” he can feel the sting of tears in his eyes, “And he’s already working closely with the FBI so why does he need to befriend a semi-unstable, ex-FBI agent, if he already has everything he needs to cover up the murders he commits?”

Hannibal tilted his head. Will wanted him to say something comforting, to reassure him but instead the doctor remained silent. For a moment Will feared he had misjudged. But then the muscles in Hannibal’s face contorted to form a thin, subtle smile.

Will exhaled shakily and drew out his gun, “You're the Chesapeake Ripper.”

“You once called me an artist.” Hannibal replied.

Will shook his head in disbelief. He wanted to scream at Hannibal, to demand that Hannibal convince him that he wasn’t a killer - he could do it too, the Ripper could do it - but instead Hannibal took a step towards him.

“Why did you do it?” Will demanded.

“If you're referring to a certain event in particular,” Hannibal said, “I’m afraid, you will have to be more specific.”

“Don’t fucking patronise me! You know exactly what I mean!”

“Why do I kill them?” Hannibal asked, with unsettling calmness, “There are many different reasons, Will, but essentially because I deem them unfit to live.”

Will shook his head, that wasn’t good enough, “Why?”

“Because they are rude.”

“I’ve been rude to you.”

“You’re…different.”

Will’s heart clenched at Hannibal’s words. “You’re looking for an equal,” he said slowly, and then with uncertainty, “Me?” 

“Yes.”

Will shook his head. He couldn’t believe this. There had to be something else. “Why did you contact David Coleridge?” he asked.

“Simply so that he would tell you I had.”

“To confuse me?”

“To show you that you were important to me.”

“And those murderers? Why did you kill them?”

“You can answer that one, Will,” Hannibal responded smoothly.

Will grimaced as he thought, “To show me what we could be capable of?” he asked, “To give me an incentive to join you. To show me that I could catch more killers if I joined you?”

Hannibal laughed, “Interesting idea but it’s far simpler than that.” When Will didn’t answer, Hannibal continued, “I’m very particular about who I want to join me, Will. The candidacy has been open for quite some time.”

Will grimaced, “So these men didn’t meet your expectations?”

“Exactly.”

“And then, what? You manipulated me…? If you can’t find an equal, make one?” Will asked incredulously.

“Yes, though, you’re not quite ready yet,” Hannibal smiled, “You will be.”

“You seem _awfully_ sure about that,” Will scoffed.

“I am.”

Will forced his hands to remain steady, “And what’s going to stop me from shooting you right now?”

“If you planned to shoot me, you would already have done so.”

Will felt something build up in his throat and his wolf growled.

Hannibal smiled, “We’re very much alike, you and I.”

Will laughed skeptically.

“We are, Will,” the doctor assured him, “We’re both different from the dull, ordinary people. I’ve killed, you’ve killed-”

“Hobbs was a murderer,” Will interrupted. 

“I’ve killed murderers,” Hannibal laughed.

“I haven’t eaten anyone!”

“Yes you have.” 

Will suddenly felt sick. He couldn’t afford to faint now, he couldn’t afford to lose his concentration but good god…all those meals, all those murders. Hannibal had fed him human meat! Not just him, Jack too, and Alana, and Abigail. The worst thing about it was that he had enjoyed it. God had he enjoyed it.

“We’re just alike. You are a mirror image of what I was before I understood. You look, Will, but you don’t see.”

“Oh I see pretty damn well,” Will spat, “I see the spirits. I see my wolf. But more importantly, I now see you, Dr Lecter.” 

“You only see what I want you to see. When we made love-” Hannibal paused to observe Will’s reaction - a grimace and cringe - and Hannibal smiled as he continued, “-I let you see some of what I am, and you didn’t shy away. You embraced it. You loved it. Don’t embarrass yourself by denying something we both know to be true.”

Hannibal had known exactly what to say, when to say it. He had manipulated their conversations to meet his requirements…to progress to the next step of the game, because that’s all it was to him; a game of cat and mouse.

“Stop manipulating me!”

“Let’s consider the alternative. If you managed to take me to Jack, what would you tell him? He would need evidence, and you have none. Would you tell him of our recent work with spirits? About my true nature?” Hannibal laughed, “You have yet to see my true nature, Will.” He watched Hannibal carefully, and untrustingly as the man moved closer, “I will only give you two options,” he said, “You leave, forget about me and I disappear, or you stay with me. I would very much prefer the latter.”

“That’s generous,” Will muttered.

“I am a generous man.”

“And if I pick neither?”

Hannibal sighed, as if disappointed with Will’s reaction, “Then you will have forced my hand.”

Will wasn’t giving up that easily, though.

“You said knowing your spirit allows you to unlock your full potential,” Will said, carefully, “and that a spirit can develop and evolve.”

“That is correct. ”

“Then you weren’t originally a stag? You said I haven’t seen your true nature…What were you before?”

“You have the right idea but the wrong question. It doesn’t matter what I was,” Hannibal said, “All that matters is that I have gone through many transformations since then. I’m not a stag, anymore.”

Will frowned in confusion, “But I can see it,” he said, pointing to the creature, “A stag, right there.”

“You can see only what I allow you to see,” Hannibal tilted his head and studied Will’s wolf, he smiled when he noticed the curiosity in the wolf’s eyes, “Do you wish to comprehend me, William?”

Will swallowed and tightened his grip on his gun.

“I can show you, if you’d like,” Hannibal told him, “It would be easier for you to make a decision first-“

“Show me.” Will had to know.

Hannibal grinned, and Will watched in horror as shadows curled their way up the doctor’s neck, up his cheeks, up his forehead, and branched out into the air like stag horns…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGER. Sorry, that was rude.
> 
> Okay so this ended up a lot longer than I thought it would be so the next chapter might not be the last. Either way the next chapter is giving me a lot of strife and I have so much uni work at the moment (my advice: don't take latin) but I'll get the chapter up as soon as possible...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a comment!


	16. The Wendigo and the Wolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Eventually, either way, Will Graham was to end up on Hannibal's dining table._
> 
> This is the last instalment of _'You look (But You Don't See)'_. Enjoy!

_"When God judges such revelations to be useful, He reveals to man what science is incompetent to teach him.”_

_\- The Spirits Book by Allan Kardec._

Will stumbled backward in shock as Hannibal’s features began to change. His cheeks and eye sockets hollowed out, his smile stretched beyond humanly possible and his skin turned an insidious jet-black. Dark rings began forming all over his suit, as if the darkness was seeping through the material like ink. The blotches grew, consuming the clothing until it was indistinguishable from his skin. Flesh collapsed, and ribs, collarbones, cheekbones emerged, sharp and inhumanly-pronounced. His arms and legs lengthened, fingers growing longer, nails becoming claws. All the while the room continued to grow darker. Until the only thing Will could see were Hannibal’s bright red eyes.

They blinked. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Then they were gone.

Will couldn’t make out any distinguishing shape in the gloom; not even his wolf. It was as if the very air had transformed into thick ink that had absorbed every single spec of light. Will turned, spun, searching, nevertheless, for red eyes. It didn’t matter where he moved - where his outstretched hands should have met furniture he found none. The very room had disappeared into nothingness.

He felt as if he were dancing, dream-like within the insidious black, waiting for his once-anchor-now-shark to finish taunting and bite. Their melody had hit crescendo, and it was playing loudly in his ears, guiding him through the black as Will danced and waited to die. But no pain came, no bite or death stroke, no matter how long he searched and stepped and suffered in the darkness.

Everything had been working up to this moment. Everything had been against him from the start, humanity, fate, and God too - not that he ever believed, and maybe that was the problem; Maybe if he’d prayed. But his mind had been torn apart by empathy, and death and suffering, and pain had seeped in to play him a nightly lullaby. How could there ever be enough space for God in such a place. Humanity had done enough damage; they were the ones clawing at Will’s throat…teasing, taunting, never letting him stand up, never leaving him alone. He was never alone. Never alone to think, to feel.

Except that he was alone now.

Somewhere in the darkness Hannibal waited but for all intents and purposes Will was alone. He heard no ones voice in his mind. Not Hannibal’s. Not Hobb’s. Not Jack or Alana’s. No one’s voice but his own. And it asked him why he was awaiting death as if it were his only option.

He was tired of laying down, of heeling and letting Jack order him about. He was tired of being the sniffer-dog and go-to when every other lead had been used. He was tired of being thrown in the trash after everything was said and done. He had never been self-sufficient. He had never understood his own mind. Why was it that only murderers made sense to him? Hannibal made sense to him. Even with parts missing, Hannibal had made sense. Why hadn’t Will seen it? He had been betrayed.

And it made him angry. He balled his hands into fists, feeling a fire in his chest much like that he’d felt in his head long ago - before he’d seen the spirits - and it worked its way through his body, coiling through his muscles like electricity. A wholly-unexpected growl erupted from Will’s own mouth and his mind was suddenly swamped by new senses. The darkness was no longer made of nothingness.

A thick smokey smell filled the air, and something else, a fevered-glee. Bloodlust. There were sounds too, not breathing, not a heart-beat. A reverberation, unnatural, like the bouncing-buzz of wind through the cracks in wood. It took only a moment for him to realise that this collection of sensations was the dark-embodiment of Hannibal.

And he was right in front of him.

Will felt the air disperse before he heard the creature pounce. His hands - claws - shot out to grab the creature’s throat, to tear, to hear it cry and gurgle, to make it suffer - but they met thin air. There was a scratching sound along floorboards. Then the there was nothing. No sound or smell. Will bared his teeth, and growled, searching again in the darkness. His gun had been all-but forgotten in the shadows. Even if he decided to look for it he probably wouldn’t have been able to find it. He didn’t need a gun anyway. He had teeth to rip and nails to claw and hands to squeeze.

Then the sensations returned and warm breath tickled the back of his neck. He spun to attack and was thrown off his feet. He landed on the floor with a grunt. Will tried to get up but a large clawed-hand landed on his chest and held him in place. The room flickered in and out of existence. Static broke into the black abyss unveiling the creature’s wicked face from the shadows. The man- no, creature- no, God’s eyes burned a deep red, an unholy, ravenous and bloody red. Will stared up at it, at him. Those eyes were Hannibal’s. Will was reminded of the night they had made love, of seeing Hannibal slick with sweat, with his blond-grey hair disheveled, and knowing the strength of will, and loneliness, and deep soul-wrenching sorrow that hid beneath his facades. They were the same.

Then the taloned-hand encircled his throat and began to squeeze. Will’s mind was suddenly filled with thoughts. Not of breathing, or of dying but of how much he would miss his dogs, Abigail, Alana and - he gave a breathless whimper - and Hannibal. There was nothing to be done now. Will had tried to live, he had tried and he had failed. Hannibal had hunted. He had won. He had eaten. It was survival of the fittest. Will was not the fittest and so he would be eaten.

Hannibal’s red eyes dared him to think otherwise.

And Will was suddenly no longer alone in his own head. Survival of the fittest was a matter of opinion. To survive one had to adapt to their surroundings. In a dog-eat-dog world assimilation, or rather, transformation was the key - as Hannibal had said. A calmness settled over Will and he relaxed into the chokehold, feeling his mind drift.

Mankind were animals. Their very souls were beasts. One could only maintain a semblance of civilisation but if one were to believe that civilisation existed in the hearts of man it would be their downfall. A system had to be maintained. A hierarchy was inevitable and those who would not conform would die. There was no cushioning of the facts. Man or woman, child or elder. It was survival of the fittest. If you didn’t conform you perished. Will was beginning to understand that. There was nothing wrong or right because ethics was a cultural belief. A fabrication, fallacious, false and fake. In a world that didn’t give a fuck about you, you had to look after yourself and those closest.

That was what Hannibal was trying to teach Will.

“H-annibal,” Will choked.

His eyes flickered. He was losing consciousness. Then the pressure was gone. Will coughed and spluttered. Then he lay still and looked up at Hannibal. He wanted to live. For his dogs, for Abigail, for Alana, for Hannibal and especially…for himself.

He tilted his head back, and bared his neck to the monster. For a moment the creature stared down at him and then it opened its jaw, revealing three rows of teeth, and descended on Will’s neck. Will scrunched his eyes shut. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as the pressure increased around his neck. It wasn’t painful but it was a show of strength. Hannibal could finish it here, now, if he wanted to.

The pressure disappeared and when Will opened his eyes he was staring up at Hannibal - the real Hannibal.

“I’m glad you finally made your decision,” Hannibal said.

“Survival of the fittest,” Will muttered through dried lips, “I want to know how.”

Hannibal smiled and the tension left the room. Will felt calm and collected, and not at all like a man who had just dodged a bullet.

Hannibal stood, and adjusted his pristine-suit. He was clean. Not a spot or blemish on him despite what had occurred. Will was not as neatly assembled. Hannibal chuckled and suggested that he take a shower, as if it were the most normal suggestion in the world. Will might have laughed in disbelief. He might have if he still understood what normality was. He didn’t pretend to be comfortable or to be happy. He no longer had to hide a thing. 

But a shower sounded good so they showered together. They wiped away sweat and grime and all the night’s horrid images and Will began to feel happy again. Hannibal took his hands - they weren’t shaking - and he kissed them, sucking each digit into his mouth.

“You can live this life and be happy, Will.”

And Will believed him.

Hannibal held Will, and not because Will couldn’t hold himself but because he wanted Hannibal to hold him. Few words were said and very few were needed. They climbed into bed together, man and man, wolf and wendigo, and they slept till morning come.

 

A few weeks later Will moved into Hannibal’s house. The only problem were his dogs. Not that there wasn’t room enough for them but Hannibal had a strict no-dog rule in the majority of his house. Will didn’t mind that. So long as he could keep both his dogs and Hannibal. 

Will continued to fish and Hannibal continued to hunt, and extravagant dinners were almost a nightly affair. But their love life had dwindled to nonexistence. Will knew Hannibal was waiting for him to adjust. That was what Hannibal had always done. Will imagined himself, in a moment of uncharacteristic courage, seducing Hannibal and throwing him completely off balance. But in the end, it was always Hannibal who began their moments of intimacy, and so it would be inevitable that Hannibal was the one to kiss Will for the first time in weeks.

Hannibal had just finished showing Will how to cook a simple, yet beautiful, spicy “lamb” pasta, when he drew closer to him and pressed a soft unexpected kiss to Will’s lips. Then Hannibal gently unhooked the man’s glasses from his face and placed them down on the bench top. He placed a hand on Will's cheek, trailed it down his jaw, fanned his fingers over Will’s lips and cupped his face once more. Will was speechless, and frankly blushing from head to foot when Hannibal leant forward and kissed him once more.

Kissing to Hannibal - the real Hannibal - Will supposed in that moment, was a delicate act but he was soon proven wrong when the Doctor's lips parted and a tongue darted into his mouth. Sharp teeth dug into his lips, and he could hardly think as warm hands pulled the jacket from his shoulders and began undoing his buttons, all the while pulling him out of the kitchen.

Not knowing where to put them, Will placed his hands on Hannibal's hips and the thought of that alone made Will groan. Hannibal's hands were on his chest and on his shoulders, shoving away the offending cloth that had hidden him. Will was pressed up against some surface and he noticed that somehow Hannibal had managed to undo his tie, waistcoat and the few of the top buttons of his shirt. Will finished it, clumsily, and with hands straying now and then because jesus christ Hannibal had his tongue and his teeth on Will's neck. 

He cried out when Hannibal bit down hard and Will knew without a doubt that he had drawn blood. Hannibal unzipped his pants and Will's hand instinctively went out to steady himself. There was a clatter and Will realised with a giddy jolt that they were going to do it on the dining table. Of course it would be the dining table. Now that Will thought about it, it couldn't have been anywhere else. Eventually, either way, Will Graham was to end up on Hannibal's dining table.

Hannibal undressed quickly as Will laughed, and Hannibal smiled at the sound. Will pulled himself out of his own clothing, too fast, too impatient, almost tripping over himself. Hannibal laughed and pulled him close, capturing his gaze with his own and holding him in place as he removed the clothing with one hand. Will smiled. Hannibal kissed him again, sweet, like before, and quickly then, harder, faster. He bit and nipped, tongue dipping into Will’s mouth, teeth drawing blood and all the while making him arch into Hannibal’s every touch. 

Then Hannibal pushed Will to his knees and raised a challenging eyebrow. Will smiled. He could play this game. His heart fluttered in his chest, nervously, despite himself. He didn’t want to let Hannibal down. Though, by now he should have understood that was not possible of him. He pressed a kiss to Hannibal right hip, then his left, then his abdomen, all the while watching Hannibal through his eyelashes. Hannibal stared down at him and smirked. 

Then Will licked a trail up Hannibal’s cock and took the tip of it into his mouth. The doctor shivered as Will rolled his tongue around the tip, earning him a gasp. Hannibal spread his hands over Will’s temple, curling his fingers into his hair. Will found a rhythm and sucked and licked till Hannibal was throbbing against Will’s tongue, and muttering foreign words. Will shivered at the sound and sight of Hannibal in disarray. The rhythm was all but lost as his need for Hannibal grew. He wanted Hannibal inside him. 

Hannibal seemed to have had a similar thought because he pulled out of Will’s mouth and retrieved lube from his suit pants. Of course Hannibal had planned for this, Will thought, as he stood. Then Hannibal was back at his side, shoving him against the dining table. Plates clattered, and a glass fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. Neither paid it much attention. Hannibal pressed Will down on the table, kissing him, wrapping a hand around his throat and squeezing, before readying him with a slick, lubed finger. He took it slowly, pushing in and out. 

“Yes, God, Hannibal, I want…”

Hannibal smirked, “What do you want, Will?”

More. Yes. He wanted more.

“Tell me what you want, Will?” Hannibal slipped another finger into him.

Will began writhed, “More. Please, dear God-”

“Of course, Will,” Hannibal slipped out and arranged himself at Will’s entrance, before slowly pushing in.

Will groaned and his arm shot out across the table, sending plates flying. Hannibal began to thrust in and out, building up a pace as Will mumbled and moaned. 

“Will,” Hannibal said breathlessly, “Will…” 

Then he grabbed Will’s jaw, and forced him to stare into his eyes. Will did, though, through fluttering eyelids, and all he could think about was how perfect this was…

“Hannibal,” Will moaned, “I’m…”

He wanted to tell Hannibal to let go, to take his throat and squeeze and give everything of himself to him. He wanted Hannibal to take him and do everything to him that he had ever dreamed of. He didn’t want Hannibal to spare him one ounce of consideration.

“I’m yours…I’m”

Hannibal smiled, as if understanding Will’s broken speech, as if he’d read Will’s mind. His hand encircled Will’s neck in a tight grip. Then Hannibal thrust into him as deeply as he could, and pulled out completely. He grinned, teasing Will with his other hand and Will struggled against him. He tried to push for more friction, his hands shot out to do the work and Hannibal grabbed them. Will’s mouth fell open to a breathless plea. He needed this- he had to- he wanted-

Then Hannibal thrust into Will again, harder this time, finding a faster rhythm. He curled his free hand into Will’s curls and pulled as hard as he could, all the while keeping a tight grip on Will’s throat. Nails dug into Will’s hips, his legs and back ached, and his shoulder blades were digging into the cold table-top. But it was perfect. Will stared up at Hannibal in euphoric awe. Hannibal’s hair was disheveled, his skin slick with sweat. Breathless gasps escaped his mouth. But what Will was most captivated by were Hannibal’s eyes, which had not left his own since the very beginning.

Will came with a loud cry at the sight of those blood-red eyes, and Hannibal didn’t last much longer. They collapsed to the carpeted floor and lay there together, in each other’s arms, slick and sore and sticky, and completely, utterly content.

Will smiled, “I see you,” he whispered in a daze.

Hannibal smiled at him and ran a hand through Will’s hair, cupping his cheek, “I made you see,” he said, “But wait till you become.” Then he pressed his lips to Will’s forehead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this story! Please leave a comment and tell me what you think! I'm dying to know. ;) Anyway, thank you for reading this; It was so much fun to write. 
> 
> There is so much to this universe that I wish I could have gone into further detail with but if I had, I think the plot would have completely fallen apart. I don't think there was enough of an emphasis on the spirit animals - if you agree or disagree, please tell me. I'm thinking of doing a summary/questions & answers page for how the spirit-world works in this story. If anyone's interested please leave a comment and/or question and I'll post another chapter with all the details. Additionally and/or separately I'm planning on writing a couple of oneshots that are situations I couldn't add here but are set along this storyline. So watch out for that (or subscribe), which ever is easiest for you. 
> 
> If you would like to use this Hannibal universe go ahead BUT please send me a link because I would love to read it! :)


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